


My Lady Dís

by ChibiMethos



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Cannon Ending, F/M, Gen, post-BotFA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 20:44:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 51,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1401862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiMethos/pseuds/ChibiMethos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On her way to Erebor following the deaths of her family, Princess Dís receives some unexpected news from King Thranduil, and an offer to make Mirkwood her home.</p><p>King Thranduil can't abide Dwarves, but the more time he spends with Erebor's last princess,  the more he begins questioning  his long held convictions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Post Cannon(ish) ending, so Fili, Kili, and Thorin are only mentioned. 
> 
> Dís is 181 years old when the story starts. She was only 99 when Fili was born, (17 years older than he was when he died) so she's in her late 30's to very early 40's by human standards.
> 
> ***
> 
> Also, I'm apologizing in advance if any of the formatting looks odd. the RTF uploads played havoc with my formatting and it's hard to correct perfectly.  
> -Chibimethos
> 
> ***

      “My Lady Dís! Lady Dís! The messenger birds have arrived from Erebor!”  
  
       Lady Dís, Princess of Erebor, sister to King-in-Exile Thorin Oakenshield, and mother to his Heirs, looked up from the runes she was carving onto a sword blade. She was at a point where she could stop without negatively affecting the work.  
      “Very good,” she called to the servant. “I’ll come down to the house in a few minutes.”  
      “My Lady . . . it might be best to come now.”  
      Dread filled her heart at the tone and she stood up, pulling off her work apron. She followed the servant back to her house. Ered Luin was quite crowded with its own permanent residence as well as the refugees from Erebor. Nearby, were towns of Men who traded with the miners and craftsmen from Ered Luin, and not a week’s ride to the east was the Shire.  
       Everywhere she looked, Dís saw the former Erebor residents gathering in small groups. Whatever the news was, it could not have been very good. No-one looked happy. When she got to her house, a black, riderless pony was tethered near the door. Dís glanced at the servant and stepped into the house. The rider was waiting in the kitchen. He too was dressed in black, with the crest of her cousin, Dáin Ironfoot on his tabard. He bowed to Dís as she entered the room.  
     “Princess Dís. I have come from Erebor on behalf of King Dáin.”  
     She nodded. “Why is Dáin at Erebor?” she asked, sitting down at the kitchen table. “He refused to help Thorin retake the mountain.”  
    The messenger bowed. “King Thorin Oakenshield was able to reach the mountain, Princess. In the process, there was a great battle, and Dáin rallied his armies to aid his cousin and fellow king.” He paused. “The Men of Esgaroth and the Elves of Mirkwood also allied with the Dwarves in this battle.”  
    Dís eyebrows rose in surprise. For all the Races to unite in that manner, the foe must have been dangerous indeed. “Who were they fighting?” she asked.  
   “Orcs, my lady, and goblins.”  
   “Oh my.” The elves had never cared before about dwarves being attacked by orcs, but perhaps since this foe was on their doorstep, they must have felt it was better to intervene than not.  
   “Indeed,” the messenger agreed.  
   “And what of the dragon?” Dís asked.  
   The messenger smiled grimly. “Dispatched by a descendant of the Lord of Dale before the battle, milady.”  
   Dís sighed with relief, glad her children were not in any danger from that quarter, as he reached behind him and pulled three black ribbon bound scrolls from his bag. Dís began shaking her head.  
    “Oh! Oh, no. No!”  
    He bowed and placed the offending papers on the table beside her. “King Dáin extends his condolences. King Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, and his nephews — Crown Prince Fili, son of Dís, and the Heir presumptive, Prince Kili, son of Dís— were lost during the battle. As their next closest kinsman, Dáin has claimed the throne of Erebor. He saw to it that all three were buried in state. King Thranduil of Mirkwood and Bard, King of Dale attended the funerals as well.”  
    Dís wasn’t hearing him.  
    Three small scrolls of paper were all that was left of her entire family. Her beautiful blond son; so full of wit and good sense unless he was around his little brother. Her youngest and favorite; he didn’t look much like a dwarf, but he made up for it by being a hopeless flirt, and filled to overflowing with boundless energy.  
    Gone.  
    Her sons were gone.  
    Her brother had taken her sons away to reclaim a home neither of them knew, and now they were gone.  
    She was alone.  
    There would be no wedding feasts.  
    There would be no grandchildren to help raise.  
    No-one to help look after her in her old age.  
    She would die alone, Mahal only knew where, and there would be no-one to mourn her. Her sons had joined their Fathers in the Halls of Waiting.  
    They were still children! Why had Thorin let them fight?  
    The blood was pounding in her ears and the messenger droned on, but she couldn't make sense of his words. She just stared at the scrolls.  
    Her servant touched her lightly on the shoulder, startling her. “My lady?”  
    “What?” She looked around and realized the messenger had stopped talking. He bowed again.  
    “Princess Dís, King Dáin has offered you a home, whenever you wish to take possession, in Erebor. He stated that it was your home first, and that you will always be welcome there. You will have a place in his household, as a sister.”  
    Dís closed her eyes. She didn’t want to go to Erebor. She never wanted to go back to Erebor. That mountain was cursed. But her sons were there. And she desperately wanted to be with them.  Dís swallowed hard a few times, hoping that her voice would emerge without cracking.  
   “Tell King Dáin that his offer is generous. I will consider it.” The messenger bowed and departed. The servant went to gather the rest of Dís’ household and break the sad news.  
    Alone in her tiny kitchen, with three scrolls of paper, Dís wept.  
  
***


	2. Chapter 2

(TWO YEARS LATER):

 

“How much longer do we have to wait?” Lady Dís demanded crossly. “I sent word to the Mirkwood king over six months ago asking for permission to pass through his lands. He said he would send an escort for us.”

“I know, my Lady. But—” the servant started.

“I have been camped on this accursed plain for a full week already! I want to move on!”

“We sent the messenger birds ahead of us, my Lady—”

There was a bit of commotion just on the edge of the small dwarf camp, interrupting the servant. The few guards Dís had traveling with her rushed to surround her, axes at the ready, as a massive elk emerged from the Elven Gate to Mirkwood, followed by several horse mounted guards. Dís’ eyebrow rose as she recognized the elk’s rider. She called the guards to stand down, and stepped forward to greet their visitors.

“King Thranduil. To what do I owe the honor?” Dís tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She didn’t succeed, as the elf king gave her a sardonic look as he dismounted.

“I received word that the last princess of Erebor was haunting my doorstep,” he told her. “And since I haven’t been out of the house in a while, I thought I might as well come and escort you through the Woods myself.”

Dís offered him a somewhat mocking bow, and led him to her tent. A red-haired woman and several other elven guards followed. The woman joined the king and the others took up positions outside. Dís offered Thranduil a seat and a cup of tea. While they waited on the drinks, Thranduil pointed to the guard.

“You have never met my Captain of the Guard, Tauriel.”

Dís nodded to her. “I have no reason to know her,” she said, not unkindly. Thranduil offered her a strained smile.

“I’m afraid you do. Tauriel.”

The guard dropped to one knee. “My Lady Dís. I was for a very, very short time, the wife to your youngest son, Prince Kili.”

Dís stared at her. “His wife!” she demanded, incredulous. “How? When? I received no word of any wedding.”

“For elves, my lady, sex is marriage.”

“Oh. I see. Why are you telling me this?”

“Because . . . you have a one-year-old granddaughter waiting in the palace in Mirkwood, who is very excited to meet you.”

Dís stared at the elf, shocked beyond words. “Granddaughter? You . . . had a child . . . and you are sure she is my son’s?”

“Very sure. There has been no-one else.” Tauriel said firmly.

Thranduil huffed. “Besides, she looks like him. He was the scruffy one, with the unruly black hair?”

Dís felt like a weight she didn’t even know she’d been carrying was suddenly lifted off of her. A grandchild! She had a grandchild. A half-elf one, but it seemed Mahal was not going to let her die alone after all.

“What’s her name? You said she looks like Kili? What is she like? When can I see her?” Tauriel smiled and Thranduil sighed.

“She’s going to be a holy terror,” Thranduil muttered.

The tent flap was opened by an elf guard, and the tea was brought in by a dwarf servant. Tauriel rose as Dís ordered another cup be fetched, and poured for Tauriel and Thranduil. The extra cup was brought, and she bade the girl to sit beside her.

Thranduil listened in silence as the two females discussed little Callon. When he found out that Tauriel was with child, at first he suspected Legolas, but when confronted, his son had bitterly disclaimed the child and told his father who he suspected the father of Tauriel’s child actually was. Knowing how fragile the politics were in Erebor at the moment, Thranduil had quietly had a panic attack. If the child was a male, then it, and not Dáin Ironfoot, was the rightful king of Erebor.

But he also knew very well that the dwarves would never accept a half-elf for a king. That left him with few options, and all of them were unpleasant. He could banish Tauriel to the mercy of the World and just forget about her and her child, and pray they didn’t come back to haunt him in a century or so — the son demanding his rightful place on the throne of Erebor. He could keep the child. and banish Tauriel, or banish the child, and keep her. But he knew that would never work. She would run away to find him so fast that Thranduil wouldn’t even feel the breeze of her passing until she was gone.

Thranduil finally settled on allowing them both to stay, but he temporarily relieved Tauriel of her duties until she was delivered. Her fate, and that of the child’s, would be determined by its sex. The Valar were merciful — the child was a girl and could not inherit the throne since Dwarves followed primogenitor — meaning only the eldest male was allowed to rule. Tauriel and her daughter were therefore, not in the Line of Succession, and could remain safely in the Woodland Realm.

While he was still irritated over Tauriel’s thoughtless _affair d’ amore_ , allowing her to continue on in his home with her child, did have one unlooked for benefit. Legolas wasn’t in love with her anymore. He still treated her with the respect her position as captain demanded, but he had turned his attentions elsewhere in his search for a wife. Thranduil was relieved at first, then amused, as he realized that Tauriel hadn’t even noticed. Legolas’ infatuation had indeed been one-sided.

Callon would be walking soon, and while he called her a terror, Thranduil was rather enjoying having a child in the palace again. It had been many centuries since the last baby was born in the Greenwood. His home was slowly fading, and he couldn’t seem to stop it. His people were leaving for the Grey Havens in small groups every few years, but he knew it would turn into a flood before long.

Dís was smiling at Tauriel. Thranduil was amazed what a difference a few minutes and one piece of news could make. The dwarf princess had been irritated when they arrived, but he could see the underlying sadness that added years to her face, and weight to her movements. Now, just asking questions about a child she had never seen, she looked a full decade younger.

He sat forward and refilled his tea cup. Neither female noticed.

“Is thumb sucking normal?” Tauriel was asking.

Dís nodded. “Oh yes. Fili and Kili both did it for a long time. I wouldn’t worry too much unless she’s still doing it by the time she’s ready for school.”

He rolled his eyes. His wife had asked her mother the same silly questions when Legolas was a baby. He finished his second cup of tea while Tauriel opened her traveling bag, and pulled out a small, well wrapped object. When she opened it, Dís gasped and took it gently in her hands. It was a clay impression of a newborn Callon’s hands and feet.

“I brought this with me when I heard who we were going to see,” she told Dís. Thranduil stood up, and went outside while they cooed over how tiny the baby’s feet were.

Females were a species beyond his capability to understand. He surveyed the camp. It was small, no more than ten or twelve tents. There was little in the way of household goods or belongings of any kind.

He glanced back at the tent with a frown. Was Princess Dís really in such financial straits? He knew her entire immediate family — other than this new grandchild, was dead. Was that why she was returning to Erebor? That seemed a bit foolish — returning to the place where the ultimate destruction of her entire family quite literally began and ended. But if what little was here was indeed all she owned, perhaps she was intending to throw herself on Dáin’s charity because she had no other choice. Inside the tent, the ladies had grown quiet, so he stepped back inside.

“Princess Dís, when are you expected in Erebor?”

Dís looked up, surprised by his presence. She had not even noticed him leaving. “Whenever I arrive,” she said with a shrug. “I was told there was a house prepared for me if ever I had need of it. I have not written to Dáin of my arrival, though. I wish to surprise him, and see if his word is true.”

Thranduil smirked, amused a little by her somewhat devious plan. “Well, then you are welcome to stop in my home, and spend some time with the child, if you would like.”

“Some time?” she asked. “How long may I stay? I do not wish to become attached, only to have you fling me bodily across the Lake.”

“No, indeed. You may stay as long as you wish. Perhaps having her grandmother with her will keep her calm.”

Dís smiled. “Then I will happily accept your invitation, my lord.”

Tauriel smiled at Dís. “I have a set of rooms. They aren’t much, but I would be honored if you would stay with us.”

“I wouldn’t accept anything less,” she told the elf, smiling, and Thranduil was amazed at how quickly they had bonded. Dís was acting as if she and Tauriel had been friends for an Age, but when she spoke to him, she was cool and formal.

 _‘Females,’_ he thought, going back outside. “We will leave at first light,” he told the guards and went into his own tent which had been set up while Dís was entertaining him.

 

*** 

 

The sky was just transitioning from red and pink to yellow as the mixed party set off into the woods. Thranduil had his guards scattered amongst the dwarves to keep them on the path. The magic in the forest would not have any effect on him, but he had a feeling Dís would not find it amusing to lose any of her already meager household. She rode beside him, totally ignoring the fact that she looked completely ridiculous on her tiny pony, alongside his huge elk.

“What’s happening to the forest?” she asked. “This was the Greenwood. But it’s not anymore. It looks like its ill.”

Thranduil sighed. “Sadly, it is. Though, since the Battle of Five Armies as the Men are starting to call it, some of the growth is beginning to return. I think . . . whatever is in Dul Guldur is responsible for this.”

“But you’re the king,” she protested. “It’s your job to keep these things from encroaching!” “Even we have limits to our power, Princess Dís. This didn’t just start yesterday. It’s been creeping in for centuries.”

“Oh.”

When her people had fled Erebor at Smaug’s arrival, they had not gone through the woods, disliking the trees in general. Instead, they had skirted east and south, around the forest, before turning west. Thranduil didn’t seem inclined to continue the topic, so she allowed silence to fall between them.

During the night, all Dís could think of was the fact that she had a grandchild waiting for her on the other end of the Woods. For once, Kili’s reckless nature had paid off — he’d fallen in love with a kind elf. One who not only was willing to allow him into her bed, but was proud of the child they had produced.

There was still one, tiny fragment of her family remaining in the world, and it was a girl. A girl who would be given the option one day to remain with her mother’s people and be Judged among the elves, or choose the mortal life of the dwarves.

The selfish part of her heart wanted the girl to go with the elves — so that some piece of the Line of Durin would one day see the Undying Lands. But the choice was up to Callon, and would not have to be made for a very long time. Dís might even have died before the girl needed to make up her mind.

 _‘But I will not influence her,’_ Dís told herself. __‘_ She might wish to live a mortal life and, while I suspect Tauriel would be saddened by that, she would accept it.’ _She glanced over her shoulder at the she-elf. _ _  
__

Tauriel was clearly not seen as one of the group by her fellows. She stood out — her flaming red hair and big ears making her otherness even more obvious. She didn’t belong, but there was a quiet contentment to her that Dís liked. She was confidant and unconcerned with what others thought of her. Dís smiled. Yes, the two of them would get along just fine.

“You . . . have a son, do you not?” she asked Thranduil, after the silence between them had gone on for too long. He nodded.

“Yes, Legolas. He was friends with Tauriel for a while, but after Callon was born, he’s been pulling away.”

“Ah. Too proud to raise another man’s child?”

“Heartbroken,” Thranduil corrected. “But it is for the best. Even if she had not fallen in with your son, I would not have allowed mine wed Tauriel.”

Dís nodded. “I see. Well, I will endeavor to be polite to him.”

Thranduil snorted. “I cannot say the same will apply, but I will . . . request . . . his compliance.”

Dís laughed. “You forget one thing, my lord. I was raised with two older brothers, and brought up two sons of my own. I am intimately familiar with the male mind. Just leave him alone. If he gets to be a bother, I will let you know.”

“Are you now?” he asked, amusement lacing his tone. “And what have you learned about the male mind?”

Dís offered him a placid smile. “For one thing, it loves a mystery.” She fell back to chat with Tauriel, and Thranduil had to suppress a smile. This princess was nothing like her brother, and he hoped her visit would be a long one.

  
***


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Callon [Hero]
> 
> Nana [nh-ana] Sindarin; Mother
> 
> ***

         It took four days to get to the palace-city — a fairly swift journey, taking into account how many people were in the party. When they arrived, Thranduil was surprised to see Callon, in her babysitter’s arms, waiting outside for them, and disappointed not to see Legolas. Even if he wasn’t on duty, as the Crown Prince, he should have been there to greet his King on his return. Callon’s tiny face lit in delight at the sight of her mother.

  
_“Nana!”_ She called, struggling to free herself. Tauriel dismounted and ran to her daughter, reaching her before Callon threw herself to the ground.

  
         “Hello, my little princess,” she kissed the child, and Dís glanced around to see what the reactions of the others were. Most of the elves were indifferent, but a few were smiling. Thranduil was looking indulgent, and the dwarves hadn’t really noticed yet. Tauriel carried her daughter back towards her horse.

         “Guess what?”

        “What?”

        “I found Grandmother!” Callon looked confused. 

        “I told you I was going to find _Ada’s nana_ , remember?”

  
        Her little face cleared and she nodded. “Where?”

  
         Thranduil dismounted and urged everyone inside, as Tauriel handed the child to Dís. Dís thought her heart would break all over again. Callon was practically the splitting image of her father when he was nearly two. She had the same unruly black hair, and her father’s lively brown eyes.

  
        “Oh, Tauriel! She’s beautiful!” Dís sighed.

  
        For once, Kili’s delicate features had worked to his advantage, giving the child a button nose and bow shaped lips. Callon had sadly inherited both parents’ big ears, but Dís could already tell they had a more elven taper. She was going to be a sought after beauty when she was grown, dwarf blood or no. Callon studied Dís for a few moments, gently touching her sideburns and rubbing Dís’ short beard, then she looked at her mother.

  
        “Gram?” she asked, and Tauriel nodded. She offered Dís a hesitant smile. “Callon,” she said, pointing at herself. “I’m this many.” She held up two pudgy fingers, and Dís didn’t have the heart to correct her.

  
      “I know, Dear Heart. And I’m very happy to meet you.”

  
      She hugged the child and reluctantly handed her back to her mother. “Tauriel, let’s go in. I want to spend a little more time with her in private.”

  
       Tauriel agreed and showed Dís the way to her rooms. When she opened the door, Dís was pleased to see that the suite was a good size. Off of the main room, there were two bedrooms, a small sitting room with a door, and a bathroom.

  
     “I can have this room,” Tauriel pointed at the sitting room. “Made over for you, if you would still like to stay here with us.”

  
      Dís smiled. “I told you I would, but thank you.”

  
      Tauriel put her daughter down, and Callon crawled away at speed. “Should she be talking so much yet?” Dís asked.

 

      Tauriel nodded. “She’s late, actually. Most elves start talking at six months.”

  
      Callon returned in a moment with a toy that she held out to Dís. Dís immediately sat down on the floor and began talking to her about the toy. Tauriel watched them for a few minutes, then went to check on the status of Dís’ belongings. Callon didn’t even notice her mother leave. In the hallway, she was met by a disgruntled looking Legolas.

  
      “My father,” he began, without preamble. “Left home over a week ago — in an unheard-of move, to escort a disaffected dwarf princess across our borders. Only, he’s returned with the dwarf, and at least a dozen more besides! What in the name of the Holy Valar is going on?”

  
    Tauriel smiled at her former friend. Even in his irritation about Callon, and his jealousy over Kili, he still sought her out when he needed to vent.

  
   “Your father has extended his hospitality to these dwarves. And there are hardly a dozen of them,” Tauriel told him.

  
    Legolas frowned, ignoring her last statement. “Why?” he demanded. “You know how my father feels about dwarves! What makes these so special?”  
“Because,” Tauriel said, keeping her tone light. “One of these dwarves is Princess Callon’s grandmother.”

  
***

    Legolas marched into his father’s bedroom without knocking. Thranduil was in the bath, enjoying a glass of wine. He glanced impassively at his son and dismissed his valet.

    “What, Legolas?”

  
    “Dwarves, Father! There are dwarves in the palace! Why?”

  
    “Because I invited them.” Thranduil told him. “Princess Dís is Callon’s grandmother.”

  
    “So Tauriel said. So what?”

  
    “Legolas!” His father scolded, turning furious blue eyes on him. “The woman has no family left besides that baby. If you were presented with the same question — allow her to spend a few days with the last of her kin, or send her on her way without so much as a by your leave, what would you do?”

  
      Legolas flushed and looked away. “Sorry.”

  
      Thranduil refilled his wine glass. “Honestly, Legolas, I thought I taught you to think and reason before you opened your mouth.”

  
      “I haven’t spoken to her yet,” he said, disliking his own sulking tone.

  
      “Thank the Valar for small favours. You will remember your manners when you do speak to her. They may be younger than us chronologically, but Princess Dís is your Elder.”

  
     “Yes, Father.” He hesitated and Thranduil turned away from him.

   
      “Good-bye, Legolas.”

  
       The prince bowed and hurried out. When he was gone, Thranduil put down his glass and sighed in exasperation.

   
       “I’m surrounded by idiots!” He pushed his damp hair off his face and stood up. His valet appeared with his robe.

  
       “The prince is still young,” he said, as the king shrugged into the garment. He stepped back and handed the king his drink. Thranduil shook his head.

  
       “That’s hardly an excuse, Glánor. He’s a brat no matter how you look at it, and I abjure the thought of turning him loose on the world.”

  
       “Perhaps that’s exactly what he needs. He’s never been much beyond the borders of this kingdom.” Glánor had been with Thranduil since they were children, and he wasn’t afraid to offer his opinions from time to time.

  
      Thranduil put his glass down on the table and dismissed the servant. Send Legolas away? To do what? If he sent him to Imladris, Lord Elrond would feed the boy and send him away with a flea in his ear. Lady Galadriel wouldn’t even let him into Lothlórien. He frowned. But why send him anywhere? Just let him go exploring and see what fate had in store for him. Thranduil emptied his glass.

_‘Yes. I think it’s time Legolas went exploring.’_

  
***

       Tauriel took Dís with her to dinner in the common dining room, since she had no cooking facilities in her apartment. Word had already spread among the population of the Mirkwood that there were a few dwarves in the palace, and it was the only topic of conversation in the dining room. When the three of them walked into the dining room, all talk ceased. The elves turned to stare at Dís, who was holding Callon, and gave Tauriel equally curious looks. Tauriel ignored the odd stillness and surveyed the room. She pointed out a couple of seats near the back of the room.

  
    “There’s a good spot.” Dís nodded and they walked through the silent room.

     Tauriel paused to pick up a booster seat for Callon and after they sat down, a low murmur of whispered conversations started building behind them. Both women disregarded it and Tauriel began going over the usual dinner offerings. Dís made her choice, and sat with Callon while Tauriel went to get the food. Callon watched her mother walk away and frowned.

    “ _Nana_ go?”

  
    “She’ll be right back, Dear Heart.”

  
     Dís looked around the room. It was fairly large, with wide, tree-columns scattered throughout. Most of the tables sat two to four comfortably, with several longer tables near the back walls. It was cool and comfortable, but a little bland. White and silver seemed to be the colours of choice throughout the city, and Dís couldn’t decide if she liked the curved lines elves seemed to favor. The smith in her couldn’t help but envision the designs in metal.

  
_‘What a challenge that would be,’_ she mused. _‘I wonder if I stay here long enough if Thranduil would let me have a little forge of my own. I can’t imagine he sends all of his smith work out.’_

     Tauriel returned with three plates, and they chatted as they ate, ignoring the stares of the other diners.

  
     “Thranduil wants me back at work tomorrow,” Tauriel told Dís. “I know Callon might not like it much, but I’m hoping I can leave her with you while I’m at work.”

  
      Dís smiled. “I’d be honored.” She smiled at her granddaughter. “I can’t wait to spend more time with her. But, what about the lady that was watching her when we arrived?”

  
      Tauriel shook her head. “Camaenil? She’s a friend. She works as a healer. Since elves don’t get sick often, she has loads of free time, but I’d like Callon to get to know you.”  
Dís turned to Callon. “Tomorrow, you and Gram are going to explore. We’ll walk all over and get lost. and it will be fun.”

  
     “Fun!” Callon repeated. Both women laughed.

  
     “I can draw you a map if you’d like,” Tauriel offered. Dís shook her head.

     “Not knowing is half of the adventure. Besides, I doubt we can get really lost in here. If I get too turned around, I’m not afraid to ask for directions.” She shook her head, a fond smile crossing her face. 

     “Thorin was just the opposite. He’d get lost in a room that was too big, and he’d wander forever, insisting he was going the right way.”

    “Yes . . . considering how and where we found them in the woods, I can’t say I’m surprised,” Tauriel agreed slowly.

     Dís laughed and was glad that she could talk about her brother without a stab of regret. They talked of other things, and had a very pleasant meal. They were just finishing when a palace runner approached their table. He nodded politely to Tauriel and bowed to Dís. The low murmur of semi-normal conversation that had begun again ceased. as every ear in the room strained to hear him.

  
      “Princess Dís, King Thranduil commands your presence for dinner Saturday, at seven PM, in the Royal Family Quarters. Captain Tauriel and Princess Callon are to accompany you.”

  
      Dís nodded. “It is to be a formal evening?”

  
      “No, Your Highness.”

  
        “Very good.” She waved him away. He bowed and departed. Dís glanced at Tauriel, who had gone quite pale. Dís patted her hand. “It’s all a game, Tauriel. And you must learn to play it I’m afraid, if only for Callon’s sake.”

  
        Tauriel nodded dumbly, and Dís picked up Callon, who was starting to doze. As they left the dining hall, she heard the rumble of conversations beginning and laughed.

  
        “Well, I’ll bet that’s the oddest dinner you’ve ever had. And tomorrow morning, it will be all over the palace that the king wants us over for supper. And by noon, the rumor will be that he wishes to marry me.”

        Tauriel laughed. “You forget — elves don’t sleep that much. By midnight, it will be a wedding. Noon tomorrow will have you secretly carrying his child.”

  
         They both laughed and began making up all sorts of outrageous nonsense as they headed back to their rooms. When they arrived, several elves and Dís’ maid were there. The elves were arranging the furniture from the sitting room in the main room, and the maid was making the bed in Dís’ new bedroom. Callon was curious to see so many strange people in their apartment.

  
          “Who, Gram?” she asked, pointing at the elves.

  
         “They are just here to help for a minute,” she told the child. She went into her room. The maid looked up.

  
         “Oh, you’re back sooner than I was expecting. Who’s this?”

  
         “My granddaughter.”

  
         The maid didn’t even blink. “She looks just like young Master Kili. He would have been proud of her.”

  
          “Yes, I think so, too,” Dís agreed.

  
         Callon pointed. “Who?”

  
          “My name’s Asny, Princess.” She returned to smoothing out the bed. “My Lady, there will be a dresser delivered tomorrow as well as a dressing table. The elves out there said they have one small enough to fit in here without making it too crowded.”

  
          Dís nodded. “Thank you, Asny. Is everyone settling in alright?”

  
          “It’s . . . not uncomfortable, ma’am. Most everyone is content to rest anywhere for the time being. Will we be staying long?”

  
        “That has not been decided yet.”

  
         She nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I brought up your clothes. Will you be needing help preparing for bed?”

  
         “No, I think I can manage tonight.”

  
          Asny curtsied and moved past Dís. Callon waved. “Bye, A’ny!”

  
          She nodded to the child, and shooed the elf workman out of the room. Tauriel was surveying their work.

  
          “It’s not bad,” she said finally. “It's a little more crowded than I would like, but I think if I trade this couch for a slightly smaller one, it will be quite nice in here.” She glanced at Dís’ room door. “Is the bed alright?”

  
         “Tauriel, I’ve been sleeping on the ground for the last three months. It’s indoors, so it’s perfect.”

         They laughed and Tauriel reached for her daughter. “Come on, my little dwarf, it’s time for bed.”

          Callon didn’t fight her mother too much and she was nearly asleep by the time Tauriel put her in the crib. Dís hovered, watching where Tauriel kept everything so that she would be ready for the following morning.

  
       Back in their main room, Tauriel said, “I’ll have someone come and show you the way to the dining room. You can get as lost as you’d like from there.”

  
       Dís nodded. “Thank you, Tauriel. I’m sure that Callon and I will manage. Do you have a sling to carry her in?”

  
        Tauriel showed Dís where Callon’s travel things were stored, and the two women went to their rooms. During the night, Tauriel heard Dís get up and go into Callon’s room, but she didn’t hear her come out. When Tauriel went to check, Dís was sitting on the window seat, holding the sleeping baby and singing softly in Khuzdul. Knowing that this was a moment that couldn’t include her, Tauriel retreated, quietly closing the door.

  
***


	4. Chapter 4

           After breakfast the next morning, Dís had someone point her back to Tauriel’s rooms. She and Callon spent the morning playing in the baby’s room. After the child had a nap, Dís strapped her into the sling, and they set out to wander. Dís decided the best place to start was at the bottom, so she took a random path that seemed to take her down to the lower levels.   
           Here, there were apartments and shop fronts. Dís was pleased to know there was a market. Further down, she began to smell the familiar tang of fires and melted ore. She retraced her steps. The last thing she wanted at the moment was to be distracted by forging. Back on the shop promenade, Dís wandered among the stalls and permanent store fronts. The elves had all sorts of goods on display from delicate, nearly invisible bracelets of tiny metal rings to intricately woven cloth. Dís couldn’t help but be impressed. The slow passage of time for elves meant they had centuries and millennium to perfect their crafts and it showed.  
             While Dís stopped at a jeweler to look over her wares, Callon hummed to herself and babbled nonsense. There were plenty of things for her to look at and she seemed to be enjoying herself. The jeweler came out of the back of her shop when Dís stopped to look. She was surprised to see what her customer was.  
            “You’re . . . one of the dwarves the king brought!”  
            Dís nodded. “Yes. I just wanted to have a look at your pieces here. They are very delicate.”  
           The woman nodded. Callon began kicking her legs into Dís’ ribs. Since the child was facing front, she could see what Dís was seeing, and it did not interest her.  
            “Callon, stop that.”  
            The jeweler frowned at the child. “Is that . . . Captain Tauriel’s daughter?”  
            “Yes. The captain asked me to look after her.”  
            “Oh,” she said, her tone clearly indicating she didn’t believe Dís. Callon kicked Dís again.  
            “Callon, I asked you not to do that.”  
            “Gram, we go?”  
            “In a minute.”   
            Dís picked up a bracelet made of leaf shaped links. She held it up to the light, and Callon giggled since it changed the angle she was looking at. Dís was impressed by the faint gold veins etched out on both sides of the leaves.   
            “How much?”  
            The jeweler named her price and Dís nodded. “Will you accept Dwarf gold?”  
            “Of course,” she said. Dís paid her and the woman went into the back of her shop to wrap the bracelet.  
            “Gram, go,” Callon insisted. Dís reached back and gave her a swat on the butt.  
            “Stop kicking me.”  
            _“Nana!”_    
           Dís turned around. Tauriel was indeed coming their way and she looked annoyed. There were several guards with her. She stopped in front of Dís and looked around.  
            “Lady Dís, I was just summoned down here. Did something happen?”  
           Dís sighed and took her package from the jeweler who was now looking a bit ashamed as she realized the two women knew each other.  
          “Apparently, I’m kidnapping Callon,” she said dryly. Tauriel’s face turned red and she glared at the shop keeper. She pointed at Dís.  
          “Does this woman _look_ like she’s kidnapping my daughter? And if she was, why would she be so far inside the city?”  
           “No, Captain,” the jeweler shook her head, and the guards that had accompanied Tauriel looked annoyed at her as well. “It’s just—”  
           “No. Wasting my time for this is wasting  _King Thranduil’s_ time,” Tauriel snarled at the jeweler. “Whatever she just bought, give her half of it back because you likely over charged her.”  
            “She didn’t,” Dís tried to interject. The jeweler looked terrified.  
            “But Captain—”  
             “And,” Tauriel continued. “Yes, there are dwarves in the palace. They are King Thranduil’s guests. In case no-one has heard, Erebor is reoccupied and the dwarves that live there are the king’s allies! If the king is willing to open his doors and look past former prejudices, I think it would behoove the citizens of the Woods to do so as well. Don’t have the guards called again for this foolish nonsense.”  
          She turned and started to walk away then paused and came back. “Callon, _Nana_ has to go back to work okay? Stay with Gram and have fun.” She dropped a kiss on her daughter’s head and waved at Dís. When the guards were gone, Dís smiled politely at the jeweler, who was staring to her like she was in shock, and went to the next shop.  
  
***  
  
         The gossip in the dining hall that night was running in every direction. Tauriel and Dís were braced for it, and their fellow diners didn’t disappoint. As soon as they walked into the room, everyone stopped talking. The two ladies chose a table, and ignored the whispers that were starting behind their backs.  
          “How _did_ that shopkeeper call you down so fast?” Dís wanted to know as they took their seats. “I didn’t hear anything.”  
          “We have an alarm system set up that only chimes in the guardroom. Everyone has an access point under their counters, and that’s how we got called. And elves can run very fast.”  
          Dís laughed and they enjoyed their dinner. Back in their rooms, Dís helped Tauriel put the baby to bed, and the two women stayed up for several hours, drinking tea and talking. Tauriel had a lot of questions about Kili and Dís was happy to talk about both of her sons at length.  
          “I . . . really wish we could have had more time together,” Tauriel sighed. “Kili was so sweet, and caring, and . . . he would have loved Callon so much. I know he was very young by both of our standards, but — he deserved the chance to live and be a husband and father.”  
           Dís nodded. “They both did, lass. And I don’t think I will every really forgive Thorin. I love my brother, but I didn’t want him to take either of them on this quest of his. But he insisted, and Fili wouldn’t go without Kili and vice versa. I didn’t want my sons to be children forever, but they weren’t ready to be men yet either.”  
            Tauriel nodded. “Well, I could see how close they were, even with what little time I was able to spend with them. You had twins, even if they were five years apart.”  
              Dís laughed softly. “Tauriel, while, to be honest, I don’t know if you would have been the wife I would have initially wanted for my youngest, I’m very glad that he did choose you. You are kind, and were willing to look past all the centuries that have blinded both of our people.”   
            She glanced at Callon’s door. “And we each got a little piece of him to hold on to.”  
            Tauriel reached over and took Dís’ hand. “Thank you, my Lady. You raised them right, and I’ll be proud if I can do half as well with Callon.”  
           Dís shook her head. “No titles. Just Dís is fine.”  
           Tauriel smiled. “Thank you, Dís.”  
  
***  
  
           Tauriel had to work on Saturday morning, but she had the afternoon off to prepare for dinner with the king. She was too nervous to eat lunch and spent a good deal of the afternoon fretting over her clothes. Dís stayed in the main room, playing with Callon and watching her daughter-in-law slowly working herself into a nervous wreck.  
           “I know this isn’t a _formal_ dinner,” Tauriel came out of her bedroom with a dark blue dress in her hand. Dís shook her head, noting that the cuff on one sleeve was a little frayed. Tauriel tossed it onto the growing reject pile on her bed.  
           “And it’s not like I’ve never met the man before. I mean, I meet with him daily, but—this is _different!”_  
          Dís laughed. “Tauriel, relax. Wear the blue dress with the cowl collar; it’s got that nice subtle blue on blue swirl pattern. Put your hair up and you’ll be fine.”  
          “But that dress is three years old!” Tauriel protested.  
           “Thranduil isn’t going to know that,” Dís argued.  
           “Oh! Yes he will! The man is a clothes horse if ever I saw one.” Tauriel’s voice was muffled as she was digging through her wardrobe again.  
           Dís rolled her eyes. “Then why didn’t you say something sooner? I could have had Asny make you something new.”  
Tauriel poked her head out of her door. “Dís, I couldn’t do that to you. Oh! What I’m going to do?”  
           Dís found the situation extremely diverting, but it was getting late. She went into Tauriel’s room. “Tauriel, just wear the blue dress with the cowl collar. I have a silver belt that might look well with it. He said this isn’t a formal occasion. And when we get back, I’ll have Asny make you a new dress.”  
            “I . . _.”_  
 _“We_ have less than an hour left to get ready. I’ll get Callon dressed.”  
            She shut the door and went to get the baby cleaned up. Tauriel relented and wore the blue cowl dress with Dís’ belt. Dís had a gray dress with an all-over dark purple geometric pattern and lovely gauzy sleeves. With a simple string of grey pearls with a pearl teardrop pendent and matching dark purple heels, Dís knew she was slightly over dressed, but she hadn’t worn the gown in ages and wanted to show off a bit.  
            When they left their room, a guard with brown hair was waiting outside their door. He bowed to the three females.  
           “Captain Tauriel, Princess Dís, King Thranduil asked me to escort you.”   
           Tauriel’s eyebrow rose. “Elros, I—”  
           Dís elbowed her, and she gave the guard a friendly smile.                    “Thank you—Elros, was it? Please lead on.”  
           Elros bowed again and they followed him to the royal family quarters. Callon babbled nonsense and Dís was watching Tauriel get more and more tense, the closer they came to their destination. When they arrived, the guards at the door seemed startled to see Tauriel dressed-up, and almost forgot to salute.  
           Elros knocked and opened the door for the ladies. “Enjoy your evening.”  
           Dís gave him a smile. “Thank you, Elros.” The door shut and Tauriel shook her head.  
          “He’s lucky he’s still alive,” she muttered. Dís was rather taken aback.  
         “He was just doing his job.”  
         “That’s . . . I’ll explain later.”   
         The door to Thranduil’s sitting room opened and both ladies curtsied as the king and his son emerged. Thranduil had on a dark blue robe and black pants. Legolas, whom Dís had yet to meet, was wearing a short green tunic and brown pants. He looked the three females over critically, then nodded to Tauriel. Callon grinned at him.  
          “Lego!”  
          “Hello, Callon.” The words seemed to pain him, and Dís wondered idly if he really was as over Tauriel as his father claimed.  
Thranduil introduced Dís to Legolas. Dís offered him a polite smile.              “You look like your father,” she told him. Legolas flushed.  
           “Thank you,” he muttered, looking away.  
            Tauriel tried to hide her laugh. Legolas hated being told he looked like his father, even though it was true. Dís put Callon on the floor and she started to crawl away, but her dress—which was long enough to prevent her from moving easily, did its work, and she sat down and glared at her legs as if they had betrayed her.  
            Thranduil raised his eyebrow. “Problems?” he asked her. Callon frowned up at him.  
           “Go!” She demanded.  
           “Go where?”  
           “There,” she pointed towards his bedroom door. Everyone else laughed and Thranduil offered the child a small smile.   
          “No, I don’t think so. There are no toys in there, Princess Callon.”  
          “No toy?”  
           “No toys,” he agreed. Callon’s bottom lip slid out further.   
           “But . . . play now,” she insisted.  
           “No. We are going to eat now.”   
           She brightened slightly. “Food?”  
           “That’s what we typically eat,” he said and she looked confused. Dís stepped in.  
          “Yes, food.”  
          “Then play?”  
          “We’ll see.”  
          Tauriel scooped up her daughter and Thranduil led them into his private dining room. It was a small room and the round table only comfortably seated six. One of the chairs had been replaced with a special seat for Callon, and Tauriel carefully strapped her into the seat, then sat on the child’s left. Dís took the seat on Callon’s right. Thranduil and Legolas were forced to sit beside each other.  
          Once the food was served and the servants withdrew, Thranduil turned his attention on his guests.  
           “You have been here a week already. Are you enjoying your stay so far?”  
           Dis nodded. “Oh yes, very much. Callon and I went exploring almost every day, I got to be gossiped about at dinner, and I’m sleeping in a real bed for the first time in a long time, so that’s a bonus.”  
            Thranduil frowned slightly. “Yes, I’ve been hearing about your walkabouts. I understand there was an incident in the market?”  
           Tauriel rolled her eyes and Dis sighed. “I’m honestly shocked you’ve heard about that. It was nothing. I’ll give your people credit for being so protective of Callon, but beyond that—it was totally irrelevant.”  
           He nodded. “What else will you be doing while you are, Princess Dís? You will soon have every corner of the city mapped.”  
           “Besides spoiling Callon? I hadn’t really giving it much thought. Most of the members of my family were blacksmiths. I’m a fairly decent smith in my own right, and I enjoy the work, but I . . . don’t think I’ll be doing much of that here. Maybe I’ll just use the time to relax for the first time in a long time.”  
          “Well, I have an extensive library I have not paid proper attention to in a dreadfully long time,” Thranduil told her. “If you play, there is a music conservatory and there are dozens of instruments there.”  
           “I played the harp, as did Thorin. Fili and Kili preferred the fiddle.” She looked a little sad.   
           “Well, perhaps one day I shall be allowed the privilege of hearing you play,” Thranduil said graciously.  
          Dís shook her head. “I haven’t touched the thing in decades. I’m quite sure I’ve forgotten how.”   
          “Well, then what better time to reacquaint your fingers with music? I know our tastes vary, but you may find something in my collection you can play.”  
          Dís inclined her head in thanks and Tauriel reached across the table and took Dís’ hand.   
          “Well, I can’t sing or play. I’m sure Callon will want to know something of her father’s culture.”  
           Dís smiled slightly. “I suppose . . . she is a little young to be much interested in that sort of thing yet, though.”  
          “Gram.” Callon held out a pea from her plate to Dís. She leaned over and took it from the child’s hand. Callon giggled and resumed eating. Legolas wrinkled up his nose and Dís laughed.  
          “I’m sure you did some of the same things when you were that size, my Prince. Anyway, it's just a little drool.”  
         Tauriel laughed out loud at the look on Legolas’ face and his father and Dís shared an amused look that spoke of veteran parents and happier times.  
         Callon looked at the two males. “Lego!” She pointed at Legolas. Thranduil she studied for a long time, her head tilted to the side. Finally she looked at her mother.  
         “Who?”  
         “Callon, that’s the king. I told you that,” Tauriel said gently.  
         “King.” She tried on the word for size and decided she didn’t like it. “No.”  
         “Yes, honey. King Thranduil,” Tauriel insisted.  
         “No,” she shook her head. Thranduil put down his fork.  
         “Then who am I?” He asked her in a light tone.  
          Her little face screwed up as she tried mentally sounding out his name. “Ran?”  
         Legolas took a drink to keep from laughing and so did Tauriel, but Dís laughed out right.  
         “No, Dear Heart. You can’t call him that,” she corrected. “Call him ‘my Lord’ if you don’t like ‘king’.”  
       “Lord.” She considered and shook her head. “No.”  
        Thranduil shook his head and resumed eating. “It seems that I have been demoted by a Yearling. Well, _Lego,_ I guess you’re king now.” His voice was laced with amusement.  
          Legolas’ face reddened and Tauriel laughed again. “No, Father. I’m sure in a year or two she will be quite as satisfied with your job title as everyone else in the kingdom.”  
          “Oh, you think so?”  
          “I guarantee it,” Legolas said firmly.  
          Dís decided that from now on, even if she had to hire one, she would always bring a cute child with her to a potentially uncomfortable dinner. They were a wonderful distraction.  
         “Where is this library of yours, my Lord? I would love to look it over, but I confess, I cannot read much of the elven tongue.”  
          “It’s on the Third Level. You can’t miss it, it’s the largest room. There is a modest selection in Westeron,” he told her. “If you see something you wish to read that isn’t translated, just leave it with my librarian. He should be able to furnish you with a readable version fairly quickly.”  
          “Oh, well. Then I look forward to perusing,” Dís said graciously.   
           Thranduil nodded and signaled for the dishes to be removed. The next course was brought and he asked Tauriel:  
          “Are your rooms sufficient for three people?”  
          “Oh yes. The bed I requested was delivered and we are quite cozy.”  
          “I inquire,” Thranduil said deliberately, looking at Dís. “Because there is an apartment with a proper kitchen that had been vacant for a long time. It is still only two bedrooms and a sitting room, but there would still be a bit more room for the three of you.”  
         Legolas stared at his father in shock. That apartment was on the same level as his rooms. Visiting dignitaries were often housed there, and he supposed if one was really stretching the definition, Dís could be counted as such. But that over-reach could in no-way encompass Tauriel and her daughter. Tauriel’s face flared and she looked down at her plate. Dís glanced at Legolas and at Tauriel, noting their discomfiture. She offered Thranduil a noncommittal smile.  
            “That is a most generous offer, my Lord. It would be nice to be able to cook my own my food again, and I’m sure Tauriel would love to be able to relax when she returned from work without the worry of having to go out again.”  
            “I’m sensing a ‘but’,” Thranduil refilled his wine glass. Dís held out her glass, and to Legolas’ everlasting shock, he poured for her as well. Keeping her gaze on the king, Dís took a sip, and sighed contentedly. She put the glass down,   
            “Not so much a ‘but’ as a ‘we’ll see.’ I have only just arrived, and Tauriel has returned to work. It is not the most ideal time to move. Callon can only deal with so much change all at once.”  
            Thranduil’s smile was amused and he saluted Dís with his glass. It was a pretty non-answer. “Well, it will be available if it becomes needed.” He turned to his son. “Now, Legolas, I have some news for you.”  
           “I don’t like it when you have news,” Legolas said and Dís was surprised by his slightly fearful tone.  
           “Well, that’s too bad. With Tauriel resuming her full duties, it’s time for you to experience the wider world.”  
            Legolas stared at his father. “Are you . . . putting me out?”  
            “I’m suggesting that it’s time you had an adventure.” His tone clearly said it wasn’t a suggestion.   
            Legolas was shocked. His father never wanted him to go anywhere, and now he was sending him out into the world? He looked at Tauriel and Dís then back to his father.  
           “Is . . . anyone going with me?”  
           “If you wish, you may take a few companions. Of course, Tauriel cannot be spared.”  
           “Obviously. How . . . long will I be gone?”  
           “The world is a big place, Legolas. Just don’t get killed. You cannot be replaced.”  
          That was about as close as Thranduil ever came to telling his son he loved him. Legolas nodded.  
          “I will . . . leave within the week.”  
          Dís smiled. “I wish you good luck on your travels, your Highness. I wasn’t in the best frame of mind on my journey here, but I must say I was staggered by the beauty of the Shire and of the Misty Mountains.”  
          Legolas was surprised. “You . . . liked the Shire?”  
          “The countryside thereabouts is quite tranquil. I came of age while the Dwarves of Erebor were . . . traveling and I was young enough to adjust to being outside all the time. I found I rather enjoyed it.”  
          Thranduil smirked. “You see, the world is full of surprises.”  
         “Indeed,” Dís couldn’t keep the irony out of her voice. “Elves that live underground and Dwarves that prefer the sun; it’s a mad, mad, world.”  
          Tauriel and Legolas looked like they were about to faint from horror, but Thranduil offered Dís a slow, genuine smile.  
          “Indeed it is.”  
  
***


	5. Chapter 5

           Thranduil sat at his desk, staring at the elf before him, and tried to suppress his rising irritation. In the two months since Princess Dís and her household had been in Mirkwood, the number of petty complaints that he was getting daily had risen ten-fold. As far as he could tell, the dwarves weren’t _doing_ anything. Everyone was just complaining because they were _there._    
           This elf, however, was currently upset because Princess Dís had been down at his forge with her granddaughter for several hours and had made the child some small trinket.  
           “Did she actually damage anything?” Thranduil asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.  
          The smith shook his head. “But I wasn’t there and I don’t like my tools being bothered with. Especially my precision tools.”  
         “So . . . your grievance is what? Princess Dís used your forge, borrowed a few tools, and put them back where she found them?” Thranduil’s voice was flat, but he couldn’t stop his eyebrow from sliding up.  
         The smith shifted. “Well . . .”  
         “If this about the ore, how much did she use exactly?”  
         “She . . . didn’t use any of my ore.” The smith was clearly becoming uncomfortable, and was starting to mutter.  
         “So was she smelting . . . water?”  
         “No—I think she melted down a piece of her own jewelry.”  
          _‘Holy Valar,’_ Thranduil thought, keeping his face expressionless. _‘You cheap, petty bastard.’_  
         “You clearly do not have enough work to do if you were away from your forge long enough for her to melt down an existing piece of jewelry, work it, and leave before you got back. How did you even know she was there?”  
          The smith handed Tauriel a piece of paper. She glanced at it, and placed it on the desk before the king. In her sharp, angular hand, Dís had written:  
  
 _I needed to borrow the forge for a few minutes._  
 _I put everything back. I would have asked, but you weren’t here_  
 _and when inspiration strikes, you have to go for it._  
 _Sorry for any trouble._  
 _—Lady Dís_  
  
           Thranduil stared at the paper for a moment, then fixed the smith with a cold, hard look.   
           “Get. Out.”  
           The smith fled and the king balled up the note and tossed it onto the fire. Tauriel cleared her throat to swallow a laugh and Thranduil glared at her.  
            “From now on, unless one of the dwarves causes any actually damage to life, property, or limb, I don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense. I have a thousand other things that need my attention.”  
            She bowed. “I am sorry, my Lord. Normally, I would just direct them to Prince Legolas. . .”  
            He sighed. Legolas had recently written to tell his father that he was on the road. He was on his way to Rivendell to bother Lord Elrond, and then he was thinking about going to see the Blue Mountains.  
                                                                                                          _It’s only fair, since our guests are from there._  
  
           “Then . . . you deal with them.” Tauriel went pale but nodded.   
          “I’ll . . . try.”  
           “Don’t try. Do.” He stood up and went to the low bookcase by the window with the brandy decanter on it. He poured a finger of brandy and drained the glass in one shot.  
            _‘Holy Valar, I’m drinking in the middle of the day.’_ He stared at the glass, decided against a refill, and returned to his desk. “Where is Princess Dís now?”  
           “It’s Callon’s nap time, so she’s likely back in our apartment.”  
           Thranduil closed his eyes and sighed. “When you get off duty, send Dís to me. I think it’s time we had a little chat.”  
           Tauriel bowed and left the office. When the door was closed behind her, Thranduil dropped his head down on the desk.   
            _‘These dwarves aren’t doing anything. They’re the most civilized dwarves I’ve met—likely because they’re mostly female. I do not understand what the problem is here.’_  
           He sat up and reached for another paper from the ever growing stack in the box beside his desk. He wasn’t lying when he told Tauriel there were a thousand things that he needed to be doing.  
  
  
***  
  
          Thranduil was just starting to make something like a dent in the pile of paperwork when there was a knock.  
          “Come!” He barked. A guarded poked her head in.  
          “Lady Dís to see you, as requested, Sire.”  
          “Send her in.”   
          He finished skimming the document in front of him and scrawled _“NO”_ across the middle of it. He tossed it in the box behind him for rejected petitions and reached for the next paper. He was focused on what he was doing, and didn’t look up until he heard the papers on the floor behind him being shuffled. He turned around.  
          Dís was kneeling on the floor, pulling together all the rejected petitions and stacking them neatly in the box. The few that had made it into the box were in there haphazardly and a few were teetering on the lip of the box.  
         “What are you doing?” Thranduil demanded.  
         “Cleaning,” she told him, reaching behind the box and grabbing another handful of paper. “How can you be so messy? Don’t you have a staff that takes care of this sort of thing or an aid at least?”  
         “I don’t know; maybe. Why are you here?”  
         Dís’ eyebrow rose as she placed another neat stack of paper in the box. “Do tell? You summoned me.”  
         “I did?” he frowned. “Oh, yes, I did.”   
         She finished what she was doing and retook the seat in front of his desk, crossing her hands politely in her lap. “You asked to see me, my Lord?”  
         He gave her a strained smile. “How are you enjoying your stay so far?”  
         Her smile was far more generous. “I love being with Callon. She’s such a sweet child. I wonder if it’s the elf blood,” she mused half to herself. “Either way, she’s learning to walk and we play and talk and just have lots of fun.”  
         “I’m glad to hear it,” Thranduil said blandly.  
         Dís’ smile fled at his tone. “Are . . . is it time for me to leave here?”  
         “Princess Dís, I said that you may remain as long as you wish, and I meant that. If you want to stay here until Callon is an adult; that is entirely up to you. I need to speak to you about your staff.”  
        She frowned. “Have they done anything? I’ve heard nothing to that effect.”  
        Thranduil’s eyebrow rose. “You’ve had no complaints? At all?”  
        “No, not one. Everyone is content for the time being. Most of them are widows, like me, or they never married at all. They have no-one waiting for them in Ered Luin or in Erebor.”  
        “I see. How are they occupying their days?”  
        “Well, I have a lady’s maid—Asny—who helps me with Callon in the daytime if I need her. She told me that the weavers here are quite good and she has a loom in one of their workrooms. She spends a good deal of time there. Have the weavers complained?”  
       “No, they have been mercifully silent. Anyone else?”  
       “Well . . . you allowed us our own kitchen, so I have a few girls in there a couple of times a week preparing meals, but mostly I eat with Callon and Tauriel in the common dining room.”  
       “Okay,” he sighed. “Who else?”  
       “I have a girl who does the laundry—that makes six—a seamstress, but she’s mostly with Asny in the weaving room, and then the six guards I had while we were on the road. They are preparing to return home.”  
       Thranduil nodded. “Well, there seem to be a number of petty complaints about your staff, but—” he continued as she started to interrupt. “Most of the issues are just the fact that you are here. Except the one I had this morning.”  
       Dís smiled, completely unrepentant. “I take it the smith wasn’t too happy?”  
       “No, not really. You said you had your own forge in the Blue Mountains?”  
      “Well, it was Thorin’s but I ran it most of the time since he was traveling to make a bit more money.”  
      “I see. Besides babysitting, how else do you occupy yourself?”  
      “I read,” she said. “I’ve thought about it, and I don’t want the responsibility of another forge. It’s just easier to borrow one when I need to. And I would not have used his tools if I had remembered to bring my own down.”  
      Thranduil smirked. “Alright. What else do you do?”  
      Dís shrugged. “I wander. Besides my granddaughter, I have no responsibilities here. It’s actually refreshing after so many decades of caring for and about the needs of hundreds and thousands of other people.”  
      She laughed at his frown. “I was Thorin’s acting consort,” she explained. “My brother was in love with a very nice girl, so very long ago, before Smaug came, but she was one of his victims. He was storming through the mountain, eating dwarves indiscriminately. The poor girl just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. There was no-way my brother was ever going to marry after that. He never recovered from that trauma and so I had to assume the role for which she was being groomed.”  
      “I see.” Thranduil nodded as another contributing factor to Thorin’s bitterness became clear. They were both silent for a moment.  
      “These complaints, what are they about?” Dís pressed.  
      He sat back with a tired sigh. “Truthfully, nothing. Your staff has been very well behaved. But you should know better.”  
      Dís smirked. “What can I say, I love my granddaughter.”  
      “What did you make her?”  
      “Some new hair beads.”  
      “Hair beads? All this fuss is over a couple of hair beads?”  
       She shrugged. Thranduil rubbed his eyes. “I understand you sacrificed some of your own jewels for this project?”  
       Dís nodded. “I still have one or two of my mother’s pieces that I hid from Thorin so they never got sold for food—”  
       “Dís, those are heirlooms!” Thranduil exclaimed.  
       Dís shrugged again. “They are of little value beyond the sentimental.”  
       Thranduil couldn’t fathom why he was even getting worked up about this. If she wanted to melt down and divvy up the last bits of her granddaughter’s already meager inheritance, than that was her problem.  
       “Don’t do that anymore,” he told her, his tone commanding. “If you need materials to work with, just ask! They can be gotten!”  
        Dís, rather taken aback by his vehemence, agreed. “Alright. I mean . . . I doubt Callon will want them anyway. They look far too Dwarfish. She will grow up surrounded and  influenced by elf standards. Not that the things your people make aren’t lovely in their own right, but—”  
        “And if you destroy them all, she will have nothing to compare, and make her own choice.”  
        Dís nodded and stood up. “You’re right. Are we done here? It’s time for dinner.”  
        “I’m done.” For a moment, he sounded tired and every one of his 7,000 plus years. She bowed and turned to leave.  
        “Princess?”  
        She winced and paused. “Yes, my Lord?”  
        “Choose a day, once a week for us to have dinner so we can deal with any issues that may crop us between my people and yours.”  
        “Every week?” Dís asked, praying that she had heard him incorrectly.  
        “Until you decide to leave,” he nodded. Dís bowed and hurried away.   
        Back in their apartment, Tauriel was trying to calm a fussy Callon. She stopped whining as soon as Dís came back.  
        “Gram!” Tauriel handed the baby over.  
        “What did Thranduil want?” she asked, collapsing onto the sofa.  
        “He asked me not to borrow anymore forges and to have dinner with him once a week.”  
        Tauriel was relaxing into the cushions, but sat up abruptly at her mother-in-law’s response.  
        “He what?”  
        “Asked me to have dinner with him once a week.”  
       “He doesn’t even meet with his son that often for anything, much less a _meal!”_  
“So I gathered.” Dís sat beside Tauriel, bouncing Callon on her knees. The baby laughed. “Their relationship strikes me as rather formal.”  
      “That . . . is an understatement. They love each other, but after the queen passed away, they just drifted apart. Thranduil became very cold and closed off and Legolas responded by trying to imitate him. It’s all very odd.”  
      Dís silently agreed. “Have you eaten yet?”  
      “No, we were waiting for you.”  
      “Food?” Callon asked.  
      Dís stood up. “Yes, Dear Heart. Let’s go have food.”  
  
***


	6. Chapter 6

            Sunday was the one day Thranduil had nothing scheduled, so that was the day Dís choose for their dinner. She dressed with care and arrived at his door a little early. She waited in the hallway while the guards confirmed that she should be there. When the door opened the second time, the guard gestured for her to enter and hurried away. Dís glanced over the room.   
            Nothing had changed since she had been there for her first command dinner. It was salad and veg night in the common dining room, so she was looking forward to some real food, but given the choice between eating with her family and the king, she’d take salad and veg night over Thranduil in a heartbeat. The king was no-where to be seen so Dís made herself comfortable on a sofa. A couple of books were scattered on a table near-by. She got up to peek at the spines.  
           “Most of those are in Quenya.” Dís went stiff for a second, startled. She relaxed and faced her host with a smile and a curtsey.  
          “My Lord. I was curious what sorts of things you enjoy for light reading. The books people read tell a lot about them.”  
          He gestured towards the stack. “Those are all various histories of my kin.”  
         “Ah, well. Then, I see a man before me who values family and the lessons of the past.”  
         He smirked, clearly amused by this rather pointless exercise. “And if the rumors of your reading choices are to be believed, you, my dear Princess, are a lovelorn cook.”  
         Dís laughed. “Well, I was curious. Dwarves don’t write romance novels.”  
        “Indeed?”  
        “We prefer to experience things firsthand.”  
        Thranduil nodded. “I see.”  
         Dís nodded. “Indeed. Although, I’m curious about something. All the stories I’ve read are tragic loves between Elves and Men. Why is there nothing for Elf couples?”  
        Thranduil frowned. “I’ve . . . never really thought about it.”  
        Dís nodded. “Well, perhaps your people only experience such over the top passions in books.”  
        His eyebrow rose. “Over the top?”  
        Dís rolled her eyes. “Have you _read_ Beren and Lúthien? Or the one about her parents, Thingol and Melian? Over the top is the only way to describe it.”  
        “I’ve read them, yes . . . but I didn’t consider them over the top.”  
        “Really?” Dís followed him into the dining room. “You don’t think that Thingol forgetting that he was leading his people to the Undying Lands because he was staring at Melian for a century or however long it was is over the top? No-one looks _that_ good!”  
         Thranduil couldn’t hold back a short bark of laughter. Dís smiled.  
         “So you can laugh.”  
         He shook his head. “I don’t Thingol and Melian’s story can be considered a benchmark. Besides, Melian is a Maia and if you trace the linage, they are Lord Elrond’s second or third great-grandparents.”  
        They sat down and the food was served. After the servant withdrew, Thranduil said:  
        “We need to come up with a solution to the unease between our people.”  
        “Well, the easiest solution would be for all of the dwarves to leave,” Dís said flippantly. Thranduil frowned.  
        “They won’t leave without you, and you wish to remain to care for your granddaughter. So obviously, _that_ is not an option.”  
        Dís sighed. “My household is so small we can hardly be bothering anyone. The guards that accompanied me left several days ago to return to Ered Luin. They will not be back. If I have to go to Erebor, I hope that Tauriel or another of your guards could escort us, so I released them from their service.”  
        Thranduil nodded.  
        “Honestly, the easiest thing might be to segregate us,” Dís said.  
        “No . . .” Thranduil disagreed. “That’s not a solution. Besides, I refuse to bow to the demands of the ignorant.”  
        “Then you can let people complain. Eventually, something else will capture their attention and they will stop bothering about us.”  
        “If that is your wish.” Thranduil didn’t sound convinced.  
         Dís smiled. “Perfect. Then that’s settled, and we can both have our Sunday’s back.”  
         Thranduil shook his head. “Really, Princess Dís, you’re breaking my heart. I was looking forward to our little  _tête à têtes_.”  
        Dís laughed. “No, you weren’t. Let’s do this. If there are any problems that do actually happen, then I will come and have dinner with you. I am sure you would rather spend your one day off . . . doing whatever elves do to relax. Maybe you can catch up on your reading.”  
        “Perhaps intelligent conversation helps me relax,” he countered.  
        “Possibly it does. I, however, find it most taxing. Talking to a baby about her latest scribble is about all the intellectual stimulation I need right now.”  
         Thranduil nodded. “Well, perhaps one day my silly son will settle on a suitable female and start a family, and then I shall completely understand how you feel.”  
         Dís smiled. “Prince Legolas seems like a decent young man. Why hasn’t he married yet?”  
         “He’s still too young. I was older than him when the crown fell to me. I was king, it was rather a necessity that I marry.”  
         “What was his mother like?”  
         “She was . . . my wife had the patient temperament to be the queen of a long-lived people,” Thranduil said diplomatically.  
         “That’s not an answer,” Dís scolded gently. “But I can understand if talking about her is still . . . difficult.”  
         “Our marriage was arranged. We were not Soul Mates.”  
          Dís didn’t quite understand what he meant, but she nodded anyway. “Have you considered remarrying? I’m not entirely familiar with the way elves age, but you seem young enough to consider expanding your family.”  
          Thranduil shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I suppose if I really wished it, I could remarry, and there would be a dozen ladies clamoring for the chance, but I don’t think that would be wise.”  
           “Would the prince be jealous of a younger sibling?”  
           “No, it would be nothing like that. I’m just not sure I want the added responsibility of caring for another child.”  
           Dís nodded and turned the topic back to books. After dinner, she bade him a polite good evening.  
          “I really do not think it would be wise for this to become a habit,” she told him. “As it is, the speculation as to why you called me here tonight will be all over the palace by now. If you wish to curb the complaints, it might be best to distance yourself from us.”  
          “I’m sure you mean well, Princess Dís, but that will only fuel them.” He offered her a polite smile. “Good night, Princess.”  
  
***  
  
          Tauriel was enjoying a tranquil day off at home the day Callon stood up and walked across the room without help. She was reading aloud while Dís and her ladies were sewing and knitting. Callon was playing in the center of the room, and noticed that a toy she wanted was out of her reach. She stood up, which caught her mother’s attention, and she stopped reading. Everyone else looked up as well, but Callon was oblivious to her audience as she toddled over to get the toy she wanted, then plopped back down on the floor, flush with success.  
          When everyone started laughing and cheering, she looked up, confused for a moment. Tauriel tossed aside the book and picked up her daughter.  
           “You walked! You can walk!” Callon giggled and accepted the hug, not sure why she was getting it, but never one to turn down a little affection.  
           The rest of the morning was spent getting her to walk back and forth across the room. She liked this game, since she got a hug each time she successful reached her mother or grandmother, but by nap time, she was quite done.   
          The ladies talked about the new additions that would need to be made to Callon’s wardrobe while she was napping, and they let her walk part of the way when they went to dinner. It didn’t take Callon long to figure out running, and Dís spent many a long morning after that chasing her granddaughter through the palace.   
          Callon’s favorite place to play was in the Throne Room. Climbing up and down the steps of the dais seemed to amuse her, and it allowed Dís to sit down while Callon played. Thranduil passed through the room one day while Callon was clambering onto his throne. He was looking over some papers and happened to glance up and see her. She successfully reached the seat and plopped down, giggling happily. He looked over at Dís who was watching the child, shook his head, and kept going.  
          When Tauriel returned from her shift, she had a note for Dís.  
          “What’s this?” Dís asked and they exchanged Callon for the paper.  
          “I don’t know. Thranduil just told me to give it to you.” She turned to her daughter. “Did you have a good day, my little princess?”  
         Callon nodded and Dís sat down on the sofa to read the note.  
  
 _I don’t mind if the princess plays on the High Seat_  
 _since I realize that keeping her entertained_  
 _with no other children around is difficult._  
 _However, tomorrow, bring her to the Family Wing._  
 _I’ll have Legolas’ old nursery opened and_  
 _she can play safely in there._  
 _—T._  
  
         Dís flushed and hastily refolded the paper. Tauriel gave her a curious look. “Your king,” Dís said deliberately. “Seems bound and determined to ignore my advice and flaunt my . . . association with him, tenuous as it is.”  
        “What do you mean?”  
         “I mean, that I told him the best way to curb the gossip about why I am here is to distance himself from me.” She held up the note. “Now, he wants to let Callon play in the Royal Nursery.”  
        Tauriel flushed. “What an honor for my daughter.” She put Callon down and the toddler disappeared into her room. “People do know who her father is; they know she’s a princess. I think most people will just wonder what took him so long to make the offer.”  
         “Maybe,” Dís didn’t sound convinced. “But I’ll be the one in there with her most of the time. People will wonder what makes _me_ so special.”  
          Tauriel shook her head. “Dís, I have no parents. You are Callon’s grandmother—that makes you a princess as well. I think the offer is everything generous—”  
          “Yes,” Dís agreed. “Too generous. Your king is one of the most ungenerous beings in Middle-Earth. Why is he being so nice to me? It concerns me.”  
           Tauriel laughed. “I think you’re over thinking it, Dís.” She started out of the room and paused in her bedroom doorway. “Wait, is that why you’ve been ignoring Thranduil’s summons for dinner every week?”  
            Dís nodded. “The last thing I need is more gossip—”  
Tauriel shook her head. “You’re making it worse.”  
            “What!?”  
            “Oh yeah. At the moment, the running favorite is that he made a pass at you and after you turned him down, he’s been trying to make it up to you with dinner, except you never show.”  
            Dís put her hands over her face and groaned. “Tauriel, that’s completely stupid!”  
           “Well . . . I keep telling people that you just prefer quite family meals, but it doesn’t seem to be helping.”  
           “Who—why—oh! Is he _really_ still ordering dinner for two every week? Because, as far as I can tell, he still weighs between eight to ten ounces.”  
           Tauriel laughed and shook her head. “Of course he’s not. I’m sure when you turned him down, you were quite firm in your refusal.”  
          “I was polite,” Dís countered. “What I don’t understand is why anyone would think Thranduil would make a pass at me.”  
          Tauriel went into her room to change so they could go to dinner. “Dís, you are not as old as you like to pretend you are. I’m over 900 years old. I’ve seen a few dwarves in my life, and you are not an ugly woman.”  
         “Thank you, Tauriel, but that still doesn’t explain—you know what? I don’t care. If he wants Callon to play in the Royal Nursery, then fine. It will give me more time to knit and read.”  
          “That’s the spirit! Look for the positive.” She came out of her room and went to get Callon. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”  
  
***  
  
           Dís’ idea of a nursery was a good sized room full of toys and a few books. Thranduil’s idea of a nursery was an entire wing of the palace. Tree pillars lofted the ceiling far above their heads and the lower branches provided support for the window seats. The few walls the nursery boasted were covered with tapestries, alive with the letters in the Elven alphabet and an object or animal that began with each letter. The floor was covered in soft, green moss and the atmosphere felt soothing. Somewhere that Dís couldn’t see, water was flowing and that provided a soft background accompaniment to the few birds she could also hear singing but not see. Everywhere, toys and books lined the room in low cubbies and shelves. Dís looked up to see what was proving the lighting, and in the far branches, the sun was peeking through, dappling the floor with constantly shifting shadows and light beams.  
          She put Callon down, but the child stayed close to her, hugging Dís’ leg with one arm. She put a comforting hand on her granddaughter’s head.  
         “It’s . . . a bit overwhelming, isn’t it, Dear Heart?” Callon slowly looked over the room, taking in the space. Finally, she looked up at Dís.  
         “Where are we?” Callon asked in a small voice.  
         “This is where you are going to play from now on.”  
         “I play here?” the child looked over the room in awe.  
          “Yes. And look—there are books, and lots of room to run, oh!” Dís spotted something. She took Callon’s hand. “I think I see something you might like.”   
         Together, they cautiously crossed the room. Under one of the window seats, Dís pulled out a basket. The toy lying on top was a miniature recurve bow. The arrows were in a small quiver beside it. Callon’s face lit up when she saw it.  
         “Like _Nana’s,”_ she breathed. Dís smiled and took the toy out.  
         “Yes, just like _Nana’s._ Except, you can touch this one.”  
         Callon took the bow from Dís and turned it over reverently in her hands. Dís watched her with a smile, and was reminded yet again how much Callon was like Kili. He had much the same look when Thorin brought him his first bow. Thorin made it after watching Kili struggling to make his own with bits of wood and string he had collected and had seen the child’s profound disappointment when it broke.  
          Kili had cherished that new bow and she still had it, packed away in her clothes box along with Fili’s first set of throwing knives. She shook herself out of her reverie as Callon held the bow out to her.  
           “Show me?” she asked. Dís smiled.  
           “Of course.”  
           Showing Callon how to nock and fire one arrow took several hours, but Callon was determined. Dís was sure the child would bore of the activity, but she kept trying until lunch time. They went to the dining room to eat, and Dís decided to spend the afternoon in their apartment. Callon was tired and didn’t fight, so that became their routine; mornings in the Royal Nursery and afternoons at home.  
          Tauriel would join them on her days off, and Dís was surprised to learn that she used to be a regular in this room.  
          “Legolas and I used to sneak in here to get away from our lessons,” she told Dís one day as they watched Callon hunting stuffed animals. “We were far too old to play, but this whole room . . . surely you’ve noticed — just being in here is relaxing.”  
           Dís couldn’t help but agree. Callon shot the stuffed warg she had asked Dís to make for her and began stalking a stuffed squirrel.   
           “Isn’t Callon’s birthday coming up soon?” Tauriel nodded.  
           “Yes. But elves don’t celebrate birthdays.”  
            Dís laughed. “No, I don’t suppose you would.”   
            The door to the nursery opened and Callon whipped around and fired an arrow at the door. Her mother and grandmother groaned in unison as the blunt-tipped arrow bounced off of Thranduil’s stomach. Callon giggled and resumed stalking. Thranduil looked down at the arrow, at Callon, and down at the arrow again. He smiled and picked it up.  
            “It looks like I have yet another archer in training.” He dropped the arrow back into the child’s quiver and came to stand before Dís and Tauriel.  
            Both women bowed. “I’m so sorry—” Tauriel began, but he cut her off.  
           “Do you think that is the first time I’ve been hit by that particular bow? I merely came to see if Princess Callon was enjoying herself.”  
          Callon shot the squirrel and ran over to her mother. “I got all them.”  
         “I saw you. That was a very good job.” Callon beamed and ran off again.   
         “It’s been so long ago since Legolas was that size. I’d quite forgotten how short their attention span is and how far one word of praise will go.” Both women stared at him, slightly shocked. He sat down beside Dís, and she flushed and scooted closer to Tauriel.  
         “I believe I asked you to join me for dinner several weeks ago,” he said conversationally.  
          “You did.” Dís sounded bored.  
          “And yet, you failed to arrive.”  
          “I did,” she agreed.  
          “You realized I can make it a command.”  
          “I do. But I also told you it was a bad idea.”  
          Tauriel stared to get up and leave them alone, but Dís restrained her. Thranduil gave Tauriel a hard look, and she patted Dís’ hand.  
          “I’m going to play with Callon for a little while.” After she walked away, Dís glared at Thranduil.  
         “What the hell is the matter with you?” she hissed.  
         “Princess Dís, I do not like being gainsaid.”  
          “And  _I_ do not appreciate being ordered about like a child! You said we were to meet if there are any problems to discuss. There are none, and therefore no need for me to sacrifice my time or waste yours!  
         Do you honestly think that I am so outside of society here that I do not hear the rumors? I realize people will talk, and they can say what they like about me as long as it only _affects_ me! The gossip surrounding the two of us is outrageous. I do not want my granddaughter hurt because you got lonely!”  
         Thranduil’s eyebrow rose. “You think I’m lonely?”  
         Dís huffed. “Look, Dáin doesn’t know that I’m here. Trade between here and Erebor has resumed. The more people in and out, the greater the chances that Dáin will find out there are dwarves in Mirkwood. He will ask questions, someone will drop my name, and then . . . it doesn’t bear thinking about.”  
          “What does—” he started, but Dís cut him off.  
          “The less time you spend with me, the less fuel in the fire. I doubt Dáin will do much besides fuss about my being here, but just the same, I’d like to continue enjoying the relative tranquility. So no, unless it is a full State occasion that features hundreds of other people, I will not be joining you for dinner again anytime soon.”  
           “What is being said that outrages you so?” Thranduil watched Tauriel resetting Callon’s hunting ground.   
           “Everything. There is speculation that I was brought here to be your mistress. That because Tauriel dropped out of sight for a while before Callon was born, that the child might actually be mine. That Dáin had me planted here as a spy—that’s my favorite one—that you are planning to marry me to pacify Dáin.   
          It’s all ridiculous, but I still don’t want to add more stories to the pile.”  
          Thranduil shrugged. “We are royalty. People scrutinize everything we do, and then they fill in the blanks themselves. It is the way of the world.”  
          “I realize that, but it’s getting so bad that—never mind.”  
          “This sounds like an issue,” His face remained blank, but Dís could hear the amusement lacing his tone.  
          “It is not,” Dís said coldly. “If you decide that Callon can’t be in here anymore because of what I’ve said—”  
           “Dís, no-one uses this room. It was built for a child. Leaving it unused is a waste.” He stood up. “And I would never punish a child for the words of an adult.” He paused and studied her face.  
           “I will be going to Erebor in a little over a week. Dáin has invited me for Durin’s Day. Normally, I would just send Legolas in my stead, but he’s not here. Since Dáin does not know that you are here, you will accompany me, along with Tauriel and Princess Callon, and inform him in person.”  
          Dís nodded. “He won’t be happy.”  
          “That is between you two. I have already posted my reply and told him I was bringing a couple of guests.”  
           He swept out and Dís went to break the bad news to Tauriel.  
  
***

 


	7. Chapter 7

         Dís walked slowly into the Throne Room of Erebor beside Thranduil, and couldn’t shake the odd, backwards feeling of the situation. Arriving that morning on Thranduil’s royal yacht, Dís had dressed with care. She wanted Dáin to see that she was well and safe, but she didn’t want to look as if she were as dependent upon the Elf-king’s benevolence as she was. She wore a dark blue dress Asny and her seamstress made her for the occasion. It had a lither, elf-like look than anything Dís had ever worn before. The high waist hugged snugly under her bust line, making the skirt seem very long. Long, diaphanous over-sleeves draped over the more fitted, long under sleeves. Her hair was braided into a tiara and with the addition of a few sapphire pins and a simple necklace; Dís looked and felt like a princess for the first time in a long time. Tauriel and Callon were wearing matching green frocks in a similar style and Tauriel deliberately wore dwarf braids indicating that she was a recent widow of high status.  
        When they emerged from their rooms to accompany Thranduil into the palace, he stared at them as they drew up to him. They stopped before him and curtsied. Thranduil slowly circled both women, admiring their _toilette._ He gave Callon a gentle tap on the nose with one long finger and she giggled. This made Tauriel and Dís smile. He stepped back from them, and nodded.  
         “All of you look quite lovely. Let’s hope Dáin agrees.” He offered Dís his arm. “Shall we?”  
         Thranduil kept a measured, unhurried pace as they ascended the stairs and walked down the long walkway, for which Dís was grateful. Behind her, she could hear Callon oohing at _walls._  
 _“Nana,_ very pretty here,” she whispered to Tauriel. Tauriel agreed.  
        They stopped before the dwarf lord, and waited while Dáin started in shock at Dís. He rose and came down the steps.  
         “Cousin Dís, is that you? Durin’s Might Beard, woman! Where have you been?”  
         Dís offered him a wan smile. “Hello, Dáin. Happy New Year. I’ve only recently returned to this part of the world. I had to pass through Mirkwood on my journey, and King Thranduil kindly offered me his hospitality.”  
         Dáin nodded to Thranduil. “I thank you, Thranduil. You are kindness itself.”  
         Thranduil glanced over his shoulder at Tauriel and Callon. “She also wanted to meet someone.”  
         Tauriel came forward and bowed to the dwarf king. He frowned at her, trying to place her face, then nodded.  
          “Yes, I recall you. You came to—” he glanced at Dís. “For the funerals.”  
          Tauriel nodded and introduced herself. “And this is my daughter, Princess Callon.”  
         Dáin started at Callon for a long time, then looked and Dís and Thranduil and nodded. “You won’t be coming to live in Erebor will you, Dís?”  
         Dís shook her head. “My family needs me.”  
         He nodded again. “Well, if you ever change your mind, the house is still yours.”  
         “Thank you, Cousin,” Dís said kindly.  
         Dáin turned back to Thranduil. “You should have told me when this little beauty arrived.”  
         “Her mother did not inform me of the paternity of her child until well after she was born,” Thranduil defended himself blandly.   
         “Ah, well, no matter. Come with me.” He led them into the audience chamber and the door was shut. He turned to Tauriel. “Why didn’t you tell me?”  
        Tauriel bowed. “Because I did not want there to be anymore strife between our people. Erebor was just barely reclaimed, and with a new king installed, the fact that there might be a more direct—all though very young—heir would cause more problems than it solved. So I waited and prayed for a daughter.”  
        Dáin smirked. “I’m pleased you think so well of the Line of Durin.”  
        “I’m a soldier, my Lord, and a mother. I had to think of the well-being of everyone involved. Wars are messy, and dynastic struggles are even more so.”  
         “Which one of them was it?” Dáin asked, pointing to Tauriel’s braids.  
         “Kili,” Dís answered. “Of course it was Kili.”  
          Dáin gave Dís a fond smile and looked down at Callon. “How old is she?”  
          “This many,” Callon held up two fingers.  
          “Can’t tell by looking at her that she’s got any elf in her at all,” Dáin said jovially and Dís groaned.  
         “Mahal! Dáin! She looks like she looks. I’ve been styling her hair like a dwarf because that’s what I’m used to, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not even sure she’ll have a beard.”  
         “Oh, that’s too bad,” Dáin commiserated and Tauriel and Thranduil exchanged glances. Dáin studied Callon a moment longer.          “Captain, you have a fine looking daughter. Thranduil, thank you for looking after her.” He turned to Dís. “You look a bit thin. Are they only giving you bird food out there?”  
         “I have my own kitchen, so I do get some other choices.”  
          Tauriel laughed and Thranduil felt himself relaxing. He hadn’t even noticed how tense he was. Dáin could have responded in any number of bad ways upon seeing Callon. Instead, he was being reasonable and calm.   
          “Well, it’s nearly time for the feasting to begin,” Dáin was telling Dís. “And this year, it seems we have more to celebrate than ever.”  
          “Wait! Dáin, I don’t want anyone to know about Callon for the moment. She’s so very young to become a political pawn.”  
           “Dís, you know dwarves don’t do that to their children.”  
           “But her point is no less valid,” Thranduil stepped in. “Even just a whisper of a potential arranged marriage or the like could destabilize everything. Erebor is still recovering.”  
            “Alright. I won’t mention her.” In the hallway, Tauriel turned Callon over to one of the elf guards that accompanied them, and they continued into the banquet hall.  
             Once everyone was seated at the horseshoe shaped High Table, Dís and Tauriel on Dáin’s right, and Thranduil on Dáin’s left, Dáin got to his feet. He smiled at Dís. “As you all know, Princess Dís, the sister to King Thorin Oakenshield, Acting Consort, and mother to his Heirs, Prince Fili and Prince Kili, has been away from Erebor—her true home—for a long, long time. Well, after two years, she has finally answered my request to come home.”  
             There was applause, but Dáin shook his head. “No, no. Before you get excited, Princess Dís will not be in Erebor, but she will be in the neighborhood. King Thranduil has kindly offered her a home with less painful memories.” He turned to the Elf-king as the guests murmured in surprise.   
             “Thranduil, I am charging you with the care and keeping of our princess. She’s a beautiful, strong, intelligent woman, so I’d be careful if I were you.”  
             Dís closed her eyes groaned softly as the rest of the guests laughed. Thranduil glanced at Dís and inclined his head.   
             “I will endeavor, Dáin, to resist temptation.”  
              “Oh,” Dís muttered softly, knowing Thranduil and Tauriel could hear her. _“Please_ don’t encourage him.”  
              Thranduil smiled slightly, and Dáin took his seat. “Really, I want you to take special care of her. She’s been hurt too much—lost too much.”  
              He turned to Dís. “Honestly, I’m not surprised you didn’t want to come back here. This place is nothing but a menace to our family. Believe me when I tell you, I wanted Thorin to succeed. And if I’d known he was bringing _both_ of your boys along, I’d‘ve wrung his damn fool neck!  
            So don’t come back here, Dís. You keep that little cutie safe in the woods with the elves. And when it comes time to make her Choice, well, it couldn’t hurt to send one of Durin’s Folk to the Undying Lands. Let ‘em see what the Step-Children are made of.”  
           Dís offered Dáin a tired but grateful smile and nodded. “Thank you, Dáin. I’m glad you are being so understanding about all of this.”  
           “Thorin was a decent dwarf, Dís, but he let himself be blinded by foolish things.” After the food was served, Dáin began telling Thranduil stories about Dís.  
           “I tell ya, Thorin was beating the boys off with sticks as Dís got older. She’s a little thin now, but if you feed her right—well—”  
            Tauriel laughed softly at the look of horror that crossed Dís’ face as she realized his meaning. She looked at Thranduil who was watching Dís’ reactions as well.  
             “Well, as you know, Dáin, elves usually tend to appreciate a . . . longer line on our ladies.” Thranduil answered diplomatically.   
              “Ah, you boys just don’t know! Now, a girl with a figure, she’s sturdy and gives you something to hold on to.”  
              Dís’ head dropped to the table top, and Thranduil smirked. “Are you alright, Princess?”  
            “I’m fine. I’d just forgotten what a _pig_ Dáin can be when he sets his mind to it.”   
            “Dís, I’m just telling you the truth. Thranduil here has been single for far too long.”  
             Dís gaped at her cousin. “Are you actually suggesting that Thranduil and I should . . . _get married_?! Durin’s Beard! _Are you out of your mind_!?”  
            “That is a question that is still open for debate,” Dáin answered cheerfully.  
            “Are you drunk already?” Dís demanded.    
            “Nope, not yet. I’m workin’ on it, though.”  
            “Oh, Mahal! Tauriel, I want to go home now.”  
            “But you haven’t touched your food yet,” Thranduil said, still smirking. “And Dáin is quite concerned for your health.”  
            “The hell he is,” she muttered, picking up her fork.   
            “Dís, you’d be a catch for any dwarf,” Dáin argued. “And I know King Thranduil is not a foolish man.”  
            “What are you implying? That one day, after a long stretch without sleep, or a good night of rest, Thranduil will just suddenly discover he has an overwhelming desire for a stout, bearded wife?” She shook her head. “Dáin, really. This is beyond everything foolish.”  
             Tauriel watched Thranduil shake his head in amusement. “Dáin, I’m not currently in the market for another wife. However,” He glanced over the banquet hall and took in the various elaborate hairstyles that offered a clearer distinction between the sexes of the guests.  
              “I cannot argue with you. Princess Dís is indeed an uncommon beauty among her people.” He saluted her with his wine glass. “As I said, I will be careful.”  
              Dáin laughed. “I’m not saying it will happen overnight, but I think you and I will be sitting at another dinner in the not too distant future as true cousins.”  
              Dís closed her eyes again, blushing. Thranduil studied her for a moment. The soft red splash across her nose made the princess look very young. Dís opened her eyes, and sat up straighter, her posture radiating her status and pure noble blood. She glared down her nose, fixing Dáin with cold blue eyes. Dáin retreated slightly. Thranduil glanced at Tauriel to see if she noticed. Dís was giving Dáin the same look _he_ got when he was about to say something cutting. Tauriel smirked and Thranduil decided Dís had had enough, and changed the subject before she could open her mouth.  
            “I was thinking about setting Princess Dís up with her own little forge, but she won’t let me. I can’t imagine what else she does all day, but perhaps you have some suggestion to make her time in my Court more enjoyable.”  
            Dáin turned away from his furious cousin to listen to the Elf-king, then glanced back at her. “Dís, do you talk to the king at all?” Dáin was surprised.  
            “Sometimes,” Dís replied imperiously. “Mostly, I ignore him until he gets on my last good nerve, and then I yell at him.”  
            “Dís! No you don’t.” Dáin looked at Thranduil and Tauriel as they nodded.  
           “Yeah . . . she kinda does,” Tauriel laughed. “In fact, with Prince Legolas gone, Lady Dís is the _only_ person who yells at him.”  
           “Your son’s gone?” Dáin seemed surprised by the news.  
           “Yes. He’s on walking tour of Middle- Earth. I don’t expect I will be seeing him again for several years.”  
           “Well, it’s good for a boy to get out, get some air,” Dáin agreed. “But a forge is a lot of work. Dís, did you ever learn to knit?”  
           “Yes, Dáin. Ages ago.”  
           “So what’s your opposition to letting Thranduil here give you a few things to keep you entertained?”  
           “Nothing,” her voice was tight with annoyance. “But I prefer to make my own entertainment. Besides, King Thranduil really needs to concentrate on finding an aid to help with his paperwork, and spend less time caring about what I’m doing.”  
            Thranduil tried to look hurt, but it fell flat. Tauriel laughed. Dáin eyed the Elf-king thoughtfully for a moment.  
            “Well, you know Dís was Thorin’s acting consort for a long time. She might be of assistance to you when it comes to some of the . . . smaller details.”  
           “Dáin, no! I’m just there to keep the little one entertained. Besides, I doubt the elves would look kindly on my being . . . closely involved with State affairs.”  
           “Dís, don’t think of yourself so meanly. Once they get to know you, they’ll love you. Tell you what; you say he needs someone to help him out. You know the sort of person that would be best qualified for such a position. Help him out by finding such a competent individual.”  
            Dís sighed heavily. “Dáin, it will still look like I’m influencing the Throne. I just want to be ignored. And live in relative obscurity with what’s left of my family.”  
            “Princess Dís,” Thranduil drawled. “You will _never_ be in a position to be ignored. You have far too much presence for that.”  
            Dís hated it that she was blushing. She turned to talk to Tauriel and Dáin leaned closer to Thranduil.  
            “I’m trusting you with her. She’s been through a lot,” Dáin said, all jocularity gone from his tone.  
Thranduil nodded. “I’m aware of that. She will be perfectly safe.”  
            Other topics were raised, and Dáin sat back to watch Dís and Thranduil as they interacted with each other. Dáin never claimed to be more than a warrior, but as the day went on, he couldn’t help but wonder if the Elf-king was closer to his cousin than they were letting on. Thranduil listened to Dís closely while she was talking to the guests around her, and he watched her with unwavering eyes. Dís seemed aware of him, and did her best to avoid his gaze, but if something was said that she found amusing, it was Thranduil’s eye she caught to share the jest, not Tauriel’s.   
            _‘No,’_ Dáin finally decided. _‘They are at the very beginning of this. I don’t even think they know it yet.’_ He looked at Tauriel, who was also watching the pair closely. _‘She knows though. Or, at the very least, she suspects. This will be most amusing to watch.’_  
  
***  
  
            Dís walked into their apartment in Mirkwood a few days later, carrying Callon and sighed with relief.   
           “It’s good to be home,” she told Tauriel. She put the child down and she sprinted away. Tauriel laughed.  
            “I agree. Be it ever so humble.”  
           Dís nodded and plopped down on the sofa. Dáin had given her some money before she left Erebor. At first, she wouldn’t take it, but he insisted.  
          “Dís, I always intended that you would have an income when you came here. So you’re in Mirkwood. Nothing changes. You have a staff to pay, food to buy—you have expenses. You know it won’t make a dent in what Erebor is worth. Just take it, and don’t argue with me.”  
          “I never wanted weregild for my sons, Dáin. That’s what this feels like,” Dís argued. She was still feeling raw, having just come from visiting her sons’ tombs for the first time.  
          “No, Dís. And I never offered it because I knew you wouldn’t take. But I wanted you to be independent. Listen, I trust Thranduil. I do. I trust him far more than Thorin ever could or would. And that’s why I’m not fighting you about staying in his kingdom.   
          But I want you to have the option to leave and go anywhere you’d like, as a free woman, of independent means. Or you can take it, and put it aside for the little one. To give _her_ that option. I’ll not see you beholden to anyone. You’ve given more than anyone should, no matter their Race.   
          Let me do this. Three times a year, I’ll be sending you a piece of what you’re due.”  
          “Dáin, this is over six pounds of gold!” She flipped open the chest. “And gems I have no use for.”  
           “No, but the little one will. She won’t stay a bairn forever.” Dís had finally given in, reluctantly.   
Now, she watched Tauriel following after her daughter, picking up the clothes and shoes the child had shed.  
          “Dáin gave me a few coins to help out with expense,” Dís said. Tauriel frowned slightly.  
          “Goodness, did we look that poorly?”  
           Dís laughed. “No, I’m sure we did not. Still, he insisted and I didn’t feel like arguing with him until the End of All Days.” She sat up. “At any rate, I intend to put most of it aside for Callon. Perhaps she will have a modest inheritance after all.”  
          Tauriel nodded. “Well, alright. It’s not as if we have a lavish lifestyle to maintain.”  
          “That’s what I told him. But no matter. If Thranduil gets tired of you, at least we know we won’t starve on our way to greener pastures.”  
          “Well, I don’t foresee that ever becoming an issue, but it never hurts to have a nest egg.”  
           That was the last they made mention of the money. Dís paid her staff, and the little fortune grew. The Mirkwood elves soon grew bored looking for scandal at home, and as Dís predicted, their attention was soon caught by other events. Legolas came home briefly for the elves’ New Year, then hurried away again, seeking more adventure.  
            Thranduil went back to harassing Dís when he was bored. At least, Dís felt like he was harassing her. And he seemed to Dís to have a lot more free time than someone in his position aught. Tauriel said it was Dís’ imagination, but she doubted it.  
  
***


	8. Chapter 8

(FOUR YEARS LATER):  
  
            Dís leaned her elbows on the windows sill and took a deep breath of the fresh, spring air. It had just rained, but the ground in the nursery was bone dry. It would never cease to amaze her how the elves managed it. In her lap was her latest knitted blanket. It was more a busywork project than anything, and she was in no hurry to finish it. Behind her, now five-year-old Callon was sitting on the moss floor, ‘reading’ a picture book to her toys. Tauriel would be getting off her shift soon if Dís was gaging the angle of the sun accurately.  
            She sighed happily. Living in Mirkwood really wasn’t so bad. The elves lived at much slower pace than the rest of Middle-Earth, and for a woman with nothing to do and nowhere to go, it was perfect. After the first few turbulent months, the elves grew to ignore her and her household. Now, they were just another part of the landscape.   
            The door opened, and Dís groaned softly. She could tell by the footfalls, it wasn’t her daughter-in-law. Callon stopped reading.  
            “Good afternoon, Sire,” she said politely.   
            “And good afternoon to you, Princess Callon,” Thranduil was always very formal and polite to the child. “May I ask what you are doing?”  
            “I’m having story time.” She held up the book. “It’s about a baby bunny that got lost. He’s trying to find his way home.”  
            “Oh, dear. That sounds quite unfortunate.”  
            Callon nodded, and Dís smiled, still facing the window. For all his coldness and aloof arrogance to the adults with which he dealt, Thranduil was patience itself when it came to Callon.  
            “It is,” Callon agreed solemnly. “He didn’t listen to his _nana._ But I don’t want to give away the ending.”  
            Thranduil smiled. “Then I shall leave you to finish your book, Princess.” He gave her a courtly bow, and she happily continued with her story. Thranduil joined Dís on the window seat.  
           “Should she be reading such dark tales at her age?” Dís laughed softly.  
            “The bunny gets home,” she told him softly. “He was merely turned around in his own garden.”  
           “So, not a bright one then, this bunny?” Dís put her hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. Thranduil reached over and gently took Dís’ hand away from her mouth. Her skin prickled where his fingers ghosted past her cheek.  
           “Why do you do that?” he asked softly.  
           Dís shifted and tried to free her hand. “Do what?”  
           “Cover your mouth when you laugh. You hide your smile. Why do you always do that?” Thranduil ran his thumb over the back of her hand for a moment before he relinquished it.  
           She blushed. “I . . . wasn’t aware.” She turned the right way around and set her knitting on the seat beside her. “What brings you here on this fine afternoon?”  
            “I was tired of sitting in my office,” Thranduil admitted. “And since no-one is waiting for me at home, I thought I might as well come here and sit with the two of you for a few minutes.”  
           “Ah.” Dís nodded. She waited, but the king remained still.  
           Thranduil watched Callon finish her book. She put it away, and began gathering up all of the stuffed toys and putting them on various window seats. Dís studied him. As he was every day, the king was impeccably turned out. Today, he was wearing a dark blue robe that made his eyes seem bluer. She sighed and picked up her knitting again. It had been a while since she had finally admitted—quietly—that she was a little attracted to her host.   
           But common sense and the scandal that would rain down on Callon and Tauriel if she were to pursue him were more than enough to check her. Besides, he had already made it quite clear to Dáin in the first few months she was in residence that he was not looking for another wife—she would accept nothing less—and that she didn’t have the build he favored.  
           “Say it.” His voice broke the near quiet.  
           Dís started. “Say what?”  
           “What you’re thinking. You’ve been sighing for the last five minutes.”  
          “I’m thinking nothing, my lord. I just . . . miss my children. And I pity everything Kili has missed.”  
          Thranduil nodded. “Well, we always prefer to imaging that our loved ones would have the best reactions to things. I missed my father a lot while Legolas was growing up. I would have loved to have his advice. Now, if Legolas came to me, I’d probably tell him to figure it out on his own.”  
          Dís smiled. “Perhaps. But I still think Kili would have loved to have seen his child.”  
          “He was rather young to be a father,” Thranduil reminded her. Dís sighed.  
          “Yes, I keep reminding myself of that.” They fell silent. Callon finished putting away the stuffed toys, and was now pulling out her spider collection. Dís stood up.  
         “Callon, no. _Nana_ will be home soon. We need to get going.”  
         “Oh!! But Gram!” Callon protested, talking a few flouncing steps towards Dís.  
         “Princess Callon,” Thranduil frowned slightly at the girl. “Whining is most unbecoming. Your grandmother gave you an order.”  
         Callon’s bottom lip poked out. “Yes, Gram.” She began gathering up the toys. Dís shook her head.  
         “You didn’t have to do that.”  
         “True,” he agreed. “But Erebor thinks its princesses are safer with me, so I must help out where I can.”  
         “I asked you to stop calling me ‘Princess,’” Dís scolded softly. “It makes me sound—it’s juvenile.”  
         “Well, then what shall I call you, Princess?”  
         “I believe ‘Lady Dís’ is grand enough for an old lady like me.” Dís began folding the blanket and stuffing into a tote bag.  
          “Old? Please, I was hardly out of the school room at your age.”  
          Dís huffed. “Relatively speaking.”  
          “Hmm. Well, I disagree. You are a princess, and that is what I shall call you.” He studied her carefully. “Unless . . . your circumstances have changed.”  
           “In . . . what way?” Dís couldn’t believe she was stuttering. She looked away from him. Callon was dancing to music only she could hear, and wasn’t paying any attention to the adults.  
            “Say . . . you remarried.”   
            Dís turned back to him. “Then he would have to be a ki—” She curtsied. “Callon, we’re leaving. Now!”  
            “Coming, Gram!” Callon waved to Thranduil and hurried out after Dís.   
            He sighed as the door shut behind them. He and Dís had been doing this dance for three years. He’d advance, she’d retreat. She’d take a hesitant step forward, and then run away. If this latest encounter held true to form, it would be _months_ before she would allow him to be alone with her again. Thranduil leaned back against the window and closed his eyes. Maybe there really was a point in one’s life when you just got too old to start courting again.  
            It had all started innocently enough. After listening to Dáin’s teasing comments about Dís, Thranduil had decided that flirting with her every once on a while wasn’t a bad way to pass the time, especially if he could tease a blush out of her. For a while, it worked. He would flirt, and she would blush or turn away, and he was merely amused by her reactions. But he knew he was in trouble the night he kissed her hand and complimented her on the dress she had chosen for a formal State Dinner. As always, Dís blushed and looked away, murmuring her thanks. And instead of amusement, Thranduil wanted desperately to kiss her properly. Right there; in front of every noble elf and visiting dignitary from Dale in the room.   
             Dinner that night and the ball afterwards was a torment for the king, as he began to realize just how much time he actually spent watching Dís. She circulated amongst the guests, charming everyone she spoke too. She was the shortest person in the room, but he had no difficulty tracking her progress. She danced three dances, but refused his request to stand up with him. She smiled at everyone she saw, looking every inch the princess she was and leaving the Dale party more than a little enamored of her. And as Thranduil realized that she was looking past him that whole night, he recognized the rage he was feeling before the evening finally ended was jealousy.   
             After those slightly mortifying revelations, he avoided Dís for a while, but the desire didn’t go away. In fact, not seeing her made it worse. So he began pushing her, just a little, to see how she would respond. And she had fled like a hunted rabbit. And so the chase had begun. Perhaps it was time to change tactics. Instead of him being so forward, perhaps it was best to let Dís take the lead.   
            But it wasn’t as if they were in a formal arrangement. If he retreated too far, she might not follow, and then he’d be in real trouble. And it wasn’t as if he could ask anyone. Dáin would tell him to drag her to the altar and time would sort out the rest, but that was not the way to handle this.  
            He stood up. Perhaps it was time for another command dinner.  
  
***  
  
            Tauriel watched Dís pick over her dinner. Callon was eating and talking a mile a minute, so whatever was bothering Dís had nothing to do with Callon. When they got back to the apartment, Callon disappeared into her room, and Tauriel dragged Dís onto the sofa.  
            “Out with it,” she said sternly. Dís shook her head.  
            “It’s nothing new,” Dís said. “Just the same old, same old.” She paused. “Your king doesn’t like ‘no,’ does he?”  
            Tauriel laughed. “Does anyone? But no, it’s not a word he hears often.”  
            Dís sighed and began fiddling with the ends of her hair for a moment. Tauriel frowned.  
            “Dís, just tell me what happened.”  
             Dís dropped her hands into her lap. “Thranduil came to see Callon and I in the nursery this afternoon.”  
            “Oh? What did he want?”  
            “That’s just it—I really don’t know. Part of me half imagines he’s flirting, but the logical part of me says that’s ridiculous.”  
            Tauriel sighed. “Ridiculous? Dís, he’s been at it for three years! Thranduil is not a flirt. That’s just not him. But everyone can tell that he’s a little interested.”  
           Dís shook her head. “I . . . I can’t believe that. He knows as well as I do that we could never be together! His people would rebel!” She sighed.  
          “Besides, I thought elves couldn’t remarry. Or . . . at least I’ve never heard of any that have.”  
          “Well . . . no, not usually, but I’m sure it might have happened.” Tauriel frowned. “Wait, you . . . won’t marry the king if he asked you because no elf that _you’ve_ ever heard of has done so?!”  
          “No, it’s not that!” Dís argued. “I just . . . I refuse to believe that he’s interested in me!”  
          Tauriel crossed her arms. “Okay. Tell me why not. And don’t say ‘because I’m a dwarf’.”  
          “Tauriel, we’re too different! I don’t just mean Race. I’m mortal and we are so socially unequal that it will look like he’s taking advantage of me.”  
          Tauriel frowned. “Social unequal? A royal-born king and a princess?”   
           Dís made an irritated noise. “I’ll look like a fortune-hunter. If the claim is made that it’s a political alliance, then it begs the question—why now? Why not five years ago, when I arrived? And what political power or influence do I wield that would make such an alliance necessary? Why not one of Dáin’s granddaughters?”  
          Tauriel sighed, and shook her head. “Politics.”  
          “Yes, Politics. It rules the very air you breathe at this level.”  
          “Well, I humbly disagree with you,” Tauriel said after a moment.  
          “Oh?” Dís eyebrow rose.  
          “I say he sees what I see: an attractive, mature woman who’s not afraid to speak her mind. A woman who has the skills to be an effective queen and a good mother—to her own children and the nation at large. A woman with the intelligence to challenge him intellectually and hold her own in a lively debate. A woman who—by her own charm and personality—can help him be a better person and get the rest of the world to see it, too.”  
           Dís blinked. “Okay . . . but since you asked so _nicely_ . . . I guess I could marry you.”  
           They both laughed. “Dís, I know that’s what Thranduil sees in you. Just give him a chance to prove it. Stop running away.”  
           Dís sighed. “I’ll think about it.”  
           “No! You’ve _been_ doing that; just . . . _feel_ for a change. Do you like him at all?”  
           “How could I not? He has been very kind to all of us—you and Callon especially. He’s offered us a home—”  
            “No, Dís. Don’t think about Callon and I. Think about _you._ I’m telling you to be selfish for one second.”  
            “He’s very handsome,” Dís finally conceded. “And he has really pretty hair.”  
 _‘Okay,’_ Tauriel thought. _‘That’s a start. Sort of.’_ “Just say yes,” she begged.  
           “In some ways, I think very highly of him,” Dís said firmly.  
            Tauriel groaned. “Dís, you’re impossible.”  
  
  
***  
  
             The following morning, Tauriel reported to the king before she left to go out on her patrol. She could tell he was only half listening to her, so she hurried through the outline of her day, then placed a folded paper on his desk, bowed and departed.   
             He sat for a long time after Tauriel had gone, staring off into space. He had spent most of the previous evening going over every encounter he’d had with Dís in the last three years. Thranduil had finally come to the rather disheartening conclusion that she just wasn’t interested and he needed to give up. But the idea of turning away from Dís, without knowing for sure that she would never accept him, made his chest hurt. But that still left him exactly where his was, with no clue how to proceed. It was an odd and rather uncomfortable sensation, especially after so many centuries of total and complete confidence in everything he said or did.   
             Finally, he decided he’d wasted enough time on a problem he could not easily solve and started to sort through the paperwork piled up on the corner of his desk. Really, he was acting like an elfling just entering his majority and discovering that girls were actually quite interesting. He glanced down and saw the folded sheet Tauriel had put there. He opened it, and recognized Tauriel’s handwriting.  
  
                  _You’re going about it all wrong. She likes you,_  
 _but is afraid of the political blowback._  
  
 _A gift to test the waters might be_  
 _a good place to start._  
  
 _And you must find a way to reassure her_  
 _that you are not taking advantage._  
  
 _And you don’t mind her figure. Or her beard._  
 _Basically, that’s it okay that’s she’s not an elf._  
  
 _Let her know that you respect her skills, her mind, her ideas,_  
 _and the impact all those things will have at improving both of you._  
  
 _Tell her you love her._  
  
            Thranduil stared at the note for a long time, before going to the fireplace and dropping it in. He waited until the paper was completely reduced to ash before he returned to his desk.   
            Dís and her family were too far away. He needed less restricted, more private access to her. It was about time Princess Callon was moved to the Royal Apartments.  
  
***


	9. Chapter 9

            Two weeks later, Tauriel stood in Thranduil’s office with Dís and Callon. Callon was looking confused, and Dís slightly outraged.  
           “Sire,” Tauriel protested. “You _cannot_ be serious.”  
           “I am,” Thranduil said blandly. “Dáin has appointed me to act in his stead as Princess Callon’s legal guardian. I cannot do that effectively anymore with you living so far away. In a few years, Callon will need her own Household, and her formal schooling, craft, and weapons training will begin. In order to put people around her who will have her best interests at heart, I have to know her personality—her happiness and her sadness. Children benefit from the presence of caring male in their life. Without her father or uncles, that privilege has fallen to me. Therefore, I am granting permission to the representatives in my kingdom of the Erebor Royal Family—Princess Dís, Princess Tauriel, and Princess Callon—to remove at their earliest convenience to the Royal Family quarters.”  
         “I . . . can hardly be counted as a princess!” Tauriel protested. Thranduil’s eyebrow rose.  
         “You are the window of Prince Kili are you not?” he asked, eyeing the Widow’s braids she wore all the time now.  
          “Well, yes, but—”  
          “Then I fail to see the problem.” He looked at Dís. She looked as if she wanted to leap across the desk and strangle him, but too many years of training were keeping her firmly where she was.   
          Thranduil knew this was a risky move and could undo everything he had been trying to build with Dís, but he was prepared to start over. And looking at her—a tiny, seething ball of rage, all he really wanted to do was kiss her until all that pent up energy was focused in a much more pleasant direction.   
         Tauriel noticed his gaze lingering on Dís’ lips, and the realization of what he was doing dawned. She suppressed a slight smile. While she would be sad to leave the place her daughter was born, it wasn’t as if they would be moving across the world. And their apartment was getting too small for two women, a growing child and the number of people that were in and out all day cleaning, running errands, working, and visiting.  
         Callon touched Dís’ hand. “Gram, does this mean we’ll have our own kitchen? Will you teach me how to cook?”  
Instantly, Dís turned away from Thranduil and looked down at her granddaughter. “Yes, I suppose it does mean that, Dear Heart. And yes, I can teach you how to cook.”  
          Callon’s face lit up. “Oh wow! _Nana,_ when are we moving? Is it soon?”  
         Thranduil stood up. “Well, it’s good to see that at least one of you knows how to accept a kindness. Princess Callon, I look forward to your kitchen endeavors.”  
         “You could die,” Dís warned, glaring at him. He shook his head.  
         “If I could stomach my wife’s cooking, I think I can survive what a supervised five-year-old can concoct.”  
         Dís’ eyebrow rose. “The queen couldn’t cook?”  
         “She liked to _think_ she could,” Tauriel said. “That . . . was one skill she never really mastered.”  
        “Well, since we’re starting with lowered expectations, this should be easy,” Dís muttered.  
        Thranduil watched them leave. There would be some speculation as to why they would be moving into the Queen’s Apartment, but it would die away soon enough. And Dís would be within easy reach. But if he moved too quickly, she would get spooked.   
 _‘So this won’t happen overnight,’_ he thought. _‘I can’t be too quick, but I can’t wait forever either.’_  
        There was a knock, and a guard stepped into the room. “Sire, the guard just received word; Prince Legolas will be home within the week.”  
        He waved the guard away and sat back down.  
        “Damn,” he muttered. Dís and her family would be resettled by the time Legolas returned, but his son presented an obstacle he had not considered. He felt bad for hoping the boy didn’t intent to stay long.  
  
***  
  
         Even though she didn’t really want to be, Dís was quite impressed by their new quarters. There was a huge foyer leading to an open sitting room with a window and nice fireplace. Off the sitting room was a short hallway to the kitchens and two bedrooms for the cook and her girls. Past the kitchen was a dining room and pantry. Further down the main hall were the principle bedrooms, the night nursery, and the suites for the ladies-in-waiting. Dís hadn’t had this much space to live in since she was a child in Erebor.  
         Each room was comfortably furnished, though Dís couldn’t help but hope she and Tauriel would be allowed to redecorate. She was sure the more delicate looking pieces of furniture would not survive Callon for long.   
         Knowing that her staff would be housed near her and she didn’t have to send for them was a nice change as well. Callon was totally enchanted by everything she was seeing. The night nursery far surpassed her expectations and she couldn’t decide what to play with first, since there were an abundance of toys on offer.  
         Tauriel and Dís settled on the ladies-in-waiting suites for themselves, leaving the master bedroom temporarily vacant. Once everyone selected their rooms, the major part of the move began. Furniture was taken away, unassigned rooms were repurposed, the kitchen had to be stocked, and more serviceable furniture was brought it. Callon was happy to stay out of the way in the night nursery while all these comings and goings were taking place.   
         Thranduil stopped by towards the end of the day to see what was going on. Dís was standing in the formal sitting room on a table, directing various elves on the proper placement of the sofa to take advantage of the light pouring in from the big window. In the kitchen, the cook was already hard at work on the evening meal, their first in their own home. The master bedroom had been repurposed to a library, music room, and classroom for Callon. Tauriel was overseeing the arrangement of a desk, and several low bookcases.   
          In the bedrooms, Asny was arranging the dressing room Tauriel and Dís were going share. The only calm spot was in the night nursery with Callon. She glanced at Thranduil when he opened the door.  
          “Hello,” she chirped. “It’s very busy out there.”   
           He stepped into the room and shut the door. “It is indeed. What are you up to, Princess Callon?”  
          She held up a wooden block. “I am building a tower.” She carefully added the block to the wavering tower and nodded. “Done.”  
          “Now what?” Thranduil asked, sitting on the floor across from her. She gave him a wicked smile and he couldn’t help but return it. This had been Legolas’ favorite thing to do too.  
          “Now . . . we knock it over!” She shoved the tower with all her might and laughed in delight as the wooden blocks exploded all over the room.   
         “Wait,” he said as she reached for the blocks again. “What’s next?”  
         Callon leaned over to whisper in his ear. “We rebuild it and do it again!”  
          She fell over, giggling gleefully. Thranduil helped her re-gather the scatted blocks and aided her in building the tower even higher and more unsteadily. He couldn’t help but recall Legolas at her age, totally delighted in the simple pleasure of knocking over building blocks again and again.  
          After a while, Thranduil heard the workmen leaving. Callon was tired of the blocks, so he helped her put them away. When they were done, she took a book off the shelf and plopped down in his lap.  
         “Read to me?” she asked.  
         This was something else Legolas had loved, and Thranduil felt a stab of regret as he opened the book. There were many nights when he had neglected to read to his son, and after a while, Legolas had stopped waiting for his father to come home.  
         Maybe this was what Dís meant about being with Callon. It was a small chance to do things right the second time.  
        “The Mountain That Loved a Bird,” he read the title and Callon relaxed into his arms.  
         They were halfway through the story, and the mountain was weeping hopelessly, distressed because the bird couldn’t stay with it, when the door opened, startling them both.  
        “Oh! I’m sorry,” Tauriel offered them a smile. “Callon was so quiet, I got a little worried.”  
Thranduil smiled. “She’s fine. We’re reading.”  
       “So I see. But it’s dinner time. You’re welcome to eat with us,” Tauriel offered.  
        He glanced at Callon. “Shall we finish the story or eat dinner?”  
        “I’m hungry,” she said, rubbing her cheek. “And this story is sad.”  
         Thranduil held their place with his index finger, flipped to the last page and skimmed it. “It has a happy ending,” he assured her. Callon smiled.   
        “Okay, well, we can finish it tomorrow, then.” She trotted over to her mother and took her hand. They went to the dining room.   
        Thranduil dawdled a few minutes, finishing the story. He was thoughtful as he put it on the shelf where Callon would see it, and joined the little family in the dining room. Dís was surprised to see him, but there was plenty to go around, so she couldn’t reasonably turn him away. Callon hopped up into the chair beside her mother, forcing Dís and Thranduil to sit next to each other. Dís was discomforted, and all of the adults were rather lacking in conversation, but Callon was happy to talk about the book she and Thranduil were reading.   
         Dís stared at him. “You . . . _bothered_ to read a children’s book?” she asked. Thranduil sighed.  
         “I have a child, Princess Dís. I am familiar with them.”  
         “I like the way the king reads,” Callon told her. “His voice is different from Nana’s and yours.”  
         Tauriel and Dís shared a sad look across the table. “Yes, Dear Heart. He does have a good voice for reading,” Dís agreed. Thranduil could see that both ladies were growing uncomfortable with the topic.  
         “Legolas is coming back,” he announced. Callon grinned and Tauriel nodded.  
         “When?”  
         “In a few days,” Thranduil glanced over the table. “I’m not sure how long he plans on staying this time, but I hope you all will join us for dinner at least once while he is here.”  
        The women nodded and the conversation flagged again. Callon happily kicked her feet, oblivious to the tension in the room.   
        _“Nana,_ since we have our own kitchen now, does then mean we don’t have to eat in the common dining room anymore?”  
        “We might sometimes,” Tauriel assured her. “But not often, no.”  
       Callon grinned. “My Lord, will you be eating with us every night, then?”  
       Thranduil’s first instinct was to trap the ladies with politeness and forced obligation, and say yes, but he also knew the vagaries of his schedule. He offered the child a smile.  
        “As much as I am honored by your kind offer, I do not think that I can. Not every night at any rate.”  
        “Oh.” Callon looked at her plate. “Is it because we’re eating dwarf food? Cause, I like this better that the elf stuff.”  
        All three adults laughed in unison. “No, Princess,” he assured her. “It’s because sometimes, I have to work past dinner time.”  
        “Oh. You don’t get to take a break? But you’re the boss of everybody. Just tell them you want a break.”  
        “It’s doesn’t work that way, Callon,” Dís told her, trying to be serious.  
        “Then wants the point of being the boss of everybody when you can’t take breaks if you wanna?”  
         There really was no answer for that, so Dís asked Thranduil if he minded that they had traded out some of the furniture.  
          “It’s your home now. It must be comfortable and functional for you. My wife preferred spindly chairs that would break if you sat down too hard. I always found them rather impractical.”  
         Tauriel nodded. “We did notice. Well, then I will happily send the rest of her things to storage.”  
         “As you wish.”   
         Tauriel was about to ask when she should report to her duty station since she was now literally across the hall when Callon piped up with a question of her own.  
         “My Lord, when you marry Gram, what will I call you?”  
          Everything froze. Thranduil’s eyes darted towards Dís. Her face was turning bright red. Tauriel was gaping in horror at her daughter. Callon continued kicking her legs and chewing, oblivious to the havoc her question was wreaking. Thranduil cleared his throat, and slowly lowered the forkful of food that was about to drop into his lap back to his plate. He folded his hands on the edge of the table.  
           “What makes you think I’m going to marry your grandmother?” he asked, stalling. Dís had put her fork down as well and was wringing her napkin in her lap.  
           “Cause you seem to like to sit very close to her. And that’s what Seron and Heleth were doing for a while, and now everybody says they’re married.”  
          Thranduil looked at Tauriel. “Who are these people?”  
          “They are a couple we used to see at dinner from time to time. They were courting, and now they’re . . . married.” Tauriel answered, clearly uncomfortable.  
          “Ah,” he said, and refused to make eye contact with Dís. “Let’s . . . not worry about that right now,” he told Callon.  
         “Okay,” Callon agreed. “Maybe the next time you have dinner with us, you’ll have an idea.”  
         “That . . . might be a little soon, Princess Callon. Besides, it’s not really up to me what your grandmother does.”  
         “But, Gram,” Callon turned her huge brown eyes on Dís. “I thought you liked the king.”  
           “He has been inordinately kind to all of us,” Dís told her stiffly. Callon didn’t like this answer, but Tauriel began asking more questions about Legolas, and dinner progressed without any more embarrassing scenes.  
  
***


	10. Chapter 10

           Legolas arrived home two days later. He invited himself into his father’s office and plopped down in the chair in front of Thranduil’s desk.  
           “Hello, son. I see you survived your latest trip. How long will you be staying this time?”  
            Legolas grinned. “I was hoping for a much heartier welcome than that, Father. I’ve been gone for three years!”  
           “I know.” Thranduil didn’t look up from the paper he was reading. Legolas turned sideways in the chair, throwing his legs over the armrests.  
          “So, what’s all this I hear about Tauriel moving into Mother’s old rooms? Are you making a play for the Captain of the Guard, Father? Is that why you warned me off?”  
         Thranduil looked at his son, slightly horrified. “What?!”  
         Legolas grinned. “So, it’s not Tauriel then. Hmm. You mean, after all these centuries, you made a move out of the . . . kindness of your heart?! Will the Woods survive?”  
        “Legolas, if you’re going to be stupid, get out.” Thranduil turned back to his work. “I’m quite busy.” Legolas leaned over the desk.  
        “I stopped in Imladris on my way back. Lord Elrond told me that there are unusual things happening at home, but they are for the best.”  
        Thranduil sighed. “Legolas, I’m busy. And Lord Elrond says all sorts of things.”  
       “True, true. But he’s never mentioned you before. So what’s going on, Father?”  
       Before Thranduil could answer, Tauriel opened the door. “I’ve come to report, Sire. Oh. Hello, Legolas. When did you get back?”  
       “Just now,” Thranduil said. “And he’s getting on my nerves. Take him away. I’ll have your report later.”  
       She bowed. “Yes, Sire. Legolas, come and see how big Callon is now.”  
      “Sure.” He hopped up and followed her out. “What’s going on with my father?” he asked as they walked to the Royal Nursery.         Tauriel laughed.  
       “What do you mean?”   
       “I mean, what’s going on? The wine decanter in Father’s office is empty. And not recently. It’s clean and the layer of dust on the bottle says it hasn’t been touched in a long time. My father is a borderline alcoholic but he hasn’t been drinking? And then I come home to the news that you and your family have just moved into Mother’s old apartment and Callon is a fixture in the Royal Nursery? What is going on?”  
        “I don’t know,” Tauriel said. “Your father hasn’t been himself lately. I can’t figure it out.”  
        Legolas huffed. “Well, I won’t have time to either. I’m only staying a few days, and then I’m heading south. I’ve never gone that way.”  
        She nodded and opened the door to the nursery. “Callon?”  
        _“Nana!”_ Callon rushed over and hugged her mother. “Oh. Hello, Prince Legolas.” She curtsied and he grinned at her.  
        “Finally learning some manners, I see.” He glanced over the room and spotted Dís on the window seat. “Princess Dís.”  
        “Your Highness,” she returned his greeting with a nod. “I’m glad to see you are safely returned from your travels. Will you be home long?”  
        “No, ma’am. I’m only here for a short rest and then I’m off again.”  
        Callon tugged on his sleeve. “Prince Legolas, will you play with me?”  
        “Sure. What are you doing?” She began pulling him towards her carefully arranged stuffed animals.  
        “I’m hunting,” she told him in a low voice. Legolas grinned.  
        “Oh, I see. With your bow?”  
        She nodded and began telling him how she stalked her prey. Tauriel joined Dís by the window.  
        “What are you thinking about?” Tauriel asked. Dís shook her head.  
         “Nothing. I’m just enjoying the sun. I like sitting here because you can hear that waterfall the best from this spot. You know, even after being in here daily for the last four years, I still don’t know where that water is.”  
         Tauriel smiled. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Just enjoy it.”   
         A stray arrow found its way to Dís’ feet. She looked down at it, slightly confused, and Callon laughed.  
         “I’m sorry, Gram. Legolas is giving me moving targets.” She trotted over and picked up the missile. “I have to work on my aim.”  
         She ran away and the two ladies laughed. “Perhaps it’s time for Callon to start formal archery lessons,” Dís suggested. Tauriel nodded.  
         “I believe so,” she agreed and they talked about when and how to work that into the child’s schedule.   
          Legolas was halfway eavesdropping on Dís and Tauriel while he played with Callon. He was pleased that she seemed to enjoy archery, but then both of her parents were competent archers as well.   
          “Say, Callon, I heard you moved.”  
          She nodded. “Yeah, a few days ago. I like our new house. It’s much bigger. And the king read to me and ate dinner with us. It was fun.”  
          Legolas was surprised by this piece of news. “He did, did he? Very interesting.”  
          “Can I ask you something?”  
          “Sure,” Legolas answered cheerfully.  
          Callon glanced at her mother and grandmother, then crept closer to Legolas. “I think the king wants to marry Gram,” she said softly. “If he does, what should I call him? I asked Nana, but she wouldn’t tell me.”  
           Legolas quickly schooled his face into a blank expression. “What makes you so sure the king wants to marry Lady Dís?”  
           “He likes sitting very close to her,” Callon explained. “And sometimes, he says things to her that make her face red.” Callon giggled at this. Legolas looked at Dís thoughtfully for a moment.  
            “Well, I . . .’m sure that . . . _if_ that ever happens—and I’m not saying it will—the king will let you know, okay? So don’t worry about it.”  
            Callon nodded. “Okay.” She held up her bow. “Will you help me shoot some more?”  
             “Absolutely.”  
             That night, Legolas went to see his father. “I’ve heard some more interesting rumors, Father.”  
            Thranduil glanced up from the book he was reading. “Is that so?”  
            Legolas glanced around the sitting room. The wine bottles were completely gone from this room.  
            “It is. I’ve heard . . . _you_ are thinking about remarrying.” Legolas leaned against the wall, studying his parent. Thranduil didn’t react, but then again, he was too old to be caught out by that sort of thing.  
            “Legolas, people say lots of things.”  
            “True. True. But children don’t. They ask about what they see. What have you been up to, Father?”  
            “Legolas, what is this?”  
            “Oh, no, no.” Legolas shook his head and stepped fully into the sitting room. “Don’t answer my question with a question. What have you been up to? Why the sudden need to have Lady Dís and her family so close?”  
            “Legolas, I have been working for 20 hours. If you don’t mind, I’d like a little break to enjoy my book.”  
            “Stop evading the question. Callon is convinced you want to marry Lady Dís. Why?”  
            “Because she’s five?” Thranduil offered. “I don’t know. Please go away, Legolas. I’ll chat with you later.”  
           “Well, I want to talk now.” Legolas sat down next to his father.              “What is going on with you two? I was sure you didn’t care for dwarves. But here I leave, and suddenly the word is you want to marry one?”  
           “Because you can expect accurate hear-say from a five-year-old. Legolas, this is really reaching, even for you.”  
            “Oh, I didn’t just hear it from Callon. No, no. I checked. It’s being whispered all over the palace.”  
            Thranduil took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Legolas. I taught you a long time ago, that listening to the palace rumor mill is a good way to become _parte_ to some very useless and often grossly erroneous information.”  
            Legolas smiled slowly. “Yes, you did. So, now, I am coming to the cause of these rumors and requesting the truth. Do tell.”  
            “Legolas, go away.”  
            “Why won’t you answer me?” the prince rose and frowned at his father. “No-one will support you if you do this, Father. No-one. The _world_ will question your fitness to rule and your judgment. We will lose _everything_.”  
             Thranduil ignored his son and turned back to the book he was reading. Legolas turned to leave.  
             “Oh, Father? I was going to leave in a few days. But now, I’m considering staying at home for a while. It’s been a _long_ time since I was back, and I can see that you were missing me.”  
             He went and Thranduil slowly closed his book. Why was everything so much more complicated than it needed to be? Legolas would be underfoot the entire time he was home, and there was little his father could do about it. He just hoped the boy would get restless and leave on his own.  
  
***

  
            Legolas followed Tauriel as she left for her morning patrols. He had been home for three months and while it was pretty obvious he was annoying his father, he could see little that would prompt anyone to suggest the king was interested in Lady Dís.  
            “I’m thinking about leaving again,” he told Tauriel was she walked the wall.  
            “I’m sorry to hear that,” Tauriel smiled at him. “And I’m sure the king will be, too.”  
             “Tauriel, you’ve known us long enough to know that Father and I are getting on each other’s nerves. He desperately wants me gone.”  
            “Your father loves you, Legolas,” Tauriel scolded.  
            “I know. But he seems rather preoccupied. Is he really courting Lady Dís?”  
            “Legolas, you’ve asked me this before. And I can only tell you now what I told you then—I don’t know. You’ll have to ask your father.”  
           “I did ask him. He didn’t have an answer for me.”  
           “Then I don’t know what else to tell you.” Tauriel passed through the gate and into the woods. With the spiders gone, there was little going on out there, but she found she was rather enjoying the quiet.  
           “But Tauriel, people barely ever gossip about my father. He’s hardly one to do anything to attract rumor mongers. That’s why I have to believe there is something to this.”  
           “Your father did something kind for three people he would normally ignore,” Tauriel said, turning to face the crown prince. “Of course it started a story. It was the only way to explain your father’s rather out of character actions. I wouldn’t put too much stock in it.”  
           Legolas nodded. “Okay. Then I will resume my travels. But I will be _really_ upset when I get back and find out my father decided to get married without telling me.”  
         “When?” She asked. “Not if?”  
          Legolas glared at her. “Come on. We have a lot of ground to cover today.”  
  
***


	11. Chapter 11

           Legolas personally invited Tauriel and her family to join him and his father for dinner that night. Thranduil wasn’t looking forward to this dinner at all. When their guests arrived, Legolas met them at the door, picked up Callon and carried her into the sitting room where Thranduil was waiting. He had been avoiding Dís the entire time Legolas was home and seeing her for the first time in three months was going to be hard. Callon leaned out of Legolas’ arms when they arrived.  
          “Your Highness,” she scolded the king as Legolas put her down. “You have not come to visit me once since Prince Legolas came home. That makes me very unhappy. You know, I was _saving_ a book for us to read together!”  
           Tauriel groaned softly and Legolas turned away to hide his smile. Dís started forward.  
           “Callon—” Thranduil put up a hand to stall her words. He knelt down in front of the irate toddler.  
          “You have my _sincerest_ apologies, Princess Callon. I truly have been quite overwhelmed with work. But, I will . . . make more of an effort to come and see you when I can.”  
          Callon put her hands on her hips and leaned very close to the king’s face. “I don’t believe you.” She squinted at him for a long moment, then crossed her arms over her chest, lifting her chin in a very close impersonation of Thranduil talking down to someone.   
          “But, I will make an _effort_ . . . to forgive you if you will come and read to me at bedtime this evening.”  
          “Callon!” her mother and grandmother exclaimed in unison. Legolas couldn’t hold back a laugh at Callon’s imperious tone. Thranduil inclined his head.  
           “Very well, Princess. I will see you at bedtime.” She nodded once then turned to Legolas.  
           “I’m hungry.”  
            Legolas grinned and took her hand. “Of course. Right this way.” He led the child and her cringing mother out of the room. Thranduil stood up and offered Dís his arm.  
           “I’m sorry, Princess Dís. I . . . had not realized Callon looked forward to my occasional visits.”  
            She turned away from him for a moment, then offered him a polite smile. “Well, you are the only dominate male presence in her life.”  
            “True. I must take that privilege more seriously.”   
            “Indeed. It’s the main reason we had to move.” Dís couldn’t keep the irritation out of her voice.   
            Thranduil deliberately took his time as they walked, not wanting to rejoin the others. Dís’ hair had grown out some more and he was a little alarmed to see a few silver strands peeking through her braids. Time was against him. He needed to make a decision about her soon—about them— Legolas be damned.   
             “Dís, we need to talk—”  
             Tauriel poked her head around the door. “Callon is starting to complain.”  
            He sighed in irritation and nodded. Tauriel went back into the dining room. Dís offered him a strained smile.  
            “No, we don’t.”  
            “Yes, _we_ do,” he insisted.  
            “There’s no ‘we.’ It’s okay. I’m sure there’s some nice elf-maid out there waiting for you. Don’t get distracted and you’ll find her.”  
            If he was asked, he would have blamed it on her indifference, on not seeing her in three months, on sheer insanity. One second she was turning away from him, and the next, she was in his arms, and he was kissing her. Thranduil felt like he was drowning and Dís was the only thing that would keep him afloat, alive, breathing. Everything about her in that moment—the taste of her lips, the scent of her skin, the low desperate mew she made as she pulled him closer—this is what he wanted—what they needed. They were the only people in the world and that moment stretched into eternity.   
             When he finally pulled away, Dís was staring at him in shock.   
             “Why—?”    
             “I have wanted to do that for three years.” He stepped back and Dís’ hand flew to her mouth. She shook her head.  
             “No—”  
             “I won’t beg,” he told her softy. “But I’m not giving up, either.” Thranduil marched into the dining room, and Dís stood, staring after him for a long moment. Tauriel came out.  
          “Dís, are you alright?” Dís shook her head. Tauriel glanced back towards the dining room. “Did he hurt you?”  
          She shook her head again. “No,” she stared at Tauriel. “He . . . kissed me.”  
          Tauriel grinned, relieved. “So . . . that’s a good thing . . . right?”  
          “Tauriel! How can you say that!?”  
          “Well, it’s kind of obvious he likes you.”  
          “No! Tauriel, this is can’t happen!” Dís ran her thumb over her lips, then clapped her hands over her mouth to muffle a sob.  
          “Dís! How is this a bad thing?” Tauriel asked, pulling the shorter woman into a tight hug.   
          “Because . . . he likes me. Tauriel, I can’t _be_ . . . with the _king!_ I told you why.”  
          “Okay,” Tauriel nodded. “So what will you do?”  
          “I don’t know. I’ve . . . never tried to make someone _not_ like me before.”  
           “You’re really going to reject him?” Tauriel asked. Dís nodded.  
           “I have to.”  
  
***  
  
           Tauriel returned to the dining room without Dís. Callon frowned.  
           “Where’s Gram?”  
           “She wasn’t feeling well,” Tauriel explained. “She decided to go home and lie down. She begs you will excuse her.”  
           Thranduil didn’t react and Legolas nodded. “Of course. Shall we eat, then?”  
          After dinner, Thranduil and Legolas walked with Tauriel and Callon back to their apartment, then waited in the sitting room while Callon put on her pajamas. When she was ready for bed, she came bouncing into the room with her book in hand. She thrust it towards Thranduil.  
          “Read to me.” He stood up, and took the book from her.   
         “Your wish is my command, Princess.” He followed her to her room and she climbed into bed while he sat in a chair and read the story. Legolas watched Callon leading his father away and laughed softly.  
         “Father would have enjoyed having more children, I think.”  
         “Well, you can always get married,” Tauriel suggested. “I understand grandchildren are a great substitute. All the fun, none of the responsibility.”  
         “Yeah . . . no. I’m too young to be a father. Besides, I’m leaving in a few days.”  
         “So you said.” Tauriel smiled. “South this time?”  
         “Or west again. I don’t know. Maybe north. I met some interesting Rangers while I was up that way.”  
        Tauriel nodded. “Well, maybe when Callon’s a bit older, I might go walkabout myself for a few years—see the world.”  
        Legolas glanced out the doorway to check that the hallway was empty and leaned forward. “Tauriel, can I ask you to look after my father while I’m gone?”  
        “I’m the captain of the Royal Guards, that’s my job.”  
        “No, I mean . . . make sure he doesn’t . . . get tangled up . . . in anything.”  
       “Or with anyone?”  
       “Exactly.”  
       “Legolas, your father is a grown elf, and I can’t be with him 24 hours a day.”  
       “I realize that. But . . . if you can make it . . . less easy for him to—”  
       It took all of Tauriel’s self-control not to frown. ‘Be with the woman that he loves?’  
“To what? He works all hours and I hardly see Callon as it is.”  
       Legolas nodded and sat back. “Yeah. I’m sorry. That wasn’t very fair of me. Just keep your ears open. If you can prevent him from falling into a situation—that should be enough.”  
       “A . . . _situation?_ You must think your father is a huge playboy. I have to remind him about major, _annual_ holidays. All he does is work. Maybe falling into a few . . . _situations_ . . . might be a kindness.”  
       Legolas laughed. “Not this time.” Thranduil came back into the sitting room.  
       “Princess Callon had fallen asleep. Please tell Princess Dís I’m sorry she missed dinner and that I hope she feels better.”  
       Tauriel nodded, and walked them to the door. When they were gone, she went down to Dís’ room. She was sitting on her bed with the blanket over her head, starting out the window into the dark.  
        “We . . . don’t have a view,” Tauriel said, closing the door behind her.  
         “I know. The trunk of the tree that makes up the wall there has obstructed it. I don’t mind. I . . . kind of like trees now.” Tauriel sat down beside Dís.  
         “Are you really going to try and make Thranduil hate you?”  
         “I have to. Everyone’s future is at stake.”  
         “And what about yours? I get the whole politics thing. But if for one minute _—one_ little minute—you could just be a man and a woman—would you accept him?”  
          Dís pulled the blanket tighter around her. “I did that once, Tauriel. My husband, Garin. There wasn’t anything really special about him; he was a simple miner. He was handsome—Fili looked a lot like him—and he didn’t care what I was, and for a while, I got to forget too. It was wonderful.   
           And then, he was killed, and suddenly, I wasn’t the wife of a miner from the Blue Mountains anymore. I was the widowed sister to the king-in-exile again. I was the _pregnant_ , widowed sister to the king-in-exile. I was the Mother to the Heir to the Throne.   
           I had to be responsible for the health and happiness of my sons, and thousands of strangers again.”  
          She sighed. “I . . . can’t be selfish like that again, Tauriel. I didn’t really consider the future when I got married –what might happen to me if anything happened to him. You only get to do that once in your life.”  
         Tauriel nodded, thinking about Kili. She rubbed Dís’ arm. “He isn’t going to give up.”  
          “I know. He said he’s been waiting to kiss me for three years.”  
          Tauriel sighed. “Sometimes, the simple answer is the best one. Just tell him you don’t like him.”  
         Dís absently traced her thumb over her bottom lip. His kiss was burned like a brand onto her lips. She could still feel his lips against hers.  
         “Maybe it’s time I went back to Erebor.”  
         “And crush Callon’s heart? Besides, Dáin would suspect and send you back here. That’s not a solution.”  
         Dís chuckled. “No, I suppose not. Well, never mind. I’ll think of something.”  
         Tauriel stood up. “I wish you wouldn’t do this, Dís. I really do. He’s so different when he is around you. He’s . . . _better_. I know you two could make each other really happy.”  
        Dís didn’t answer until Tauriel was back in her own room and couldn’t hear her.  
        “Me, too.”  
  
***


	12. Chapter 12

_‘It is hard,'_ Dís thought a month later as Thranduil led her through their second dance that night. _‘To make someone dislike you when they won’t let you.’_  
         Dáin and Bard, king of Dale were sitting on the dais on either side of Thranduil’s seat watching the merrymakers below. Thranduil had decided that is had been a long time since he had hosted his neighbors and fellow royals, so he called Dís to his office the day after Legolas departed.  
         “I am going to host a ball,” he announced.  
         Dís stared at the king as if he had lost his mind. “Why?”  
        Thranduil shrugged. “Well, everyone in Erebor and Dale are on such good terms these days, I figure why not? And it’s not as if I’m stretched for resources. Except in one area.”  
        Dís prayed he wasn’t about to say what she was sure he was going to say. “And that is?”  
        He smiled and her heart constricted. “I do not have a hostess.”   
        He stood up and walked around to the back of the desk. Dís stood as well, but he moved closer, trapping her between his body and the expanse of the desk. He leaned down.  
        “I realize that I would be asking a lot from you, but you are the highest ranking woman in my kingdom. And you have the skills I lack to turn my vague idea of an entertainment into something grand.”  
        He stepped back. “So, I am hoping, Princess Dís, that you will work closely with me, and turn this into a night to remember.”  
        Dís swallowed hard. “But, my Lord . . . I have no . . . inkling of how elves or even Men go about such events. And I doubt you want a Dwarfish party.”  
        “The mere fact that you even thought of that tells me that my confidence in you is well placed. I cannot do this without you.”  
        “I don’t have the time to devote to something like this,” Dís protested. “I have Callon to look after and –”  
        “And she has the run of the Family Quarters. Where your staff and a veritable army of guards can keep an eye on her. Dís, I need you.”  
        Dís shook her head. “No. I’m . . . sure you can find _someone_ with the skills you are looking for.”  
        “I have. That someone . . . is you. Dís, I’m not going to apologize for what happened—for desiring you; for kissing you. Dáin was right—you are an attractive woman, and I should have been more careful. But the damage is done.”  
       Dís closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. “I . . . am going to ignore . . . _everything_ you just said. I’ve given you my answer. I can’t help you.”  
      “Dís, this is not about you and me. This is about doing something for our friends and allies. I have a . . . reputation for being a poor host.”  
       Dís eyebrow rose. “I’ve spent five New Year’s here. For an elf party, they weren’t half bad.”  
       “True, but it’s the same party every year. This . . . is different. There is no occasion. I just want to do it.”  
       “And I have to be your hostess?”  
       “My wife has been dead for over half a millennium. And it’s been about that long since I felt like having a party with quite literally no purpose behind it.” He turned away from Dís and began circling the room slowly.  
      “The elves in my kingdom have little interest in the outside world, and I have always encouraged that. Then, I got a few new neighbors, and now, I’m willing to allow a bit of the outside in. I don’t know what Men would prefer or even the Dwarves of Erebor. But you can help me. Both Races are familiar with you. Every time I host someone from Dale or Erebor, they inquire after you, and I am forever hearing about how charming and witty and lovely you are. I need a woman’s touch, Dís. Please.”  
       So she relented, and there began a month of rushing everywhere, arranging servants, ordering food, and meeting with dozens of people by the hour. Dís was exhausted every night and Tauriel was laughing at her.  
       “If this is how you make people hate you, I don’t want to see how you treat your friends.”  
       “Tauriel—he asked me . . . very nicely. And I don’t have a second to talk to you. The invitations I sent out have all been accepted. Half of the wine I ordered from Esgaroth hasn’t arrived yet, the draperies for the ball room are the wrong shade of blue, and you and I have a dress fitting in two hours.”  
       Tauriel shook her head. “You are _thriving_ on this, Dís. Don’t lie. I can see it in your eyes. And Thranduil is enjoying every second you have to be in his office to update him on how things are progressing.”  
       “He can enjoy anything he likes, Tauriel. Looking is free, I . . . am not.” She hurried off and Tauriel sighed.   
       Callon poked her head out of her nursery. _“Nana,_ what’s Gram busy doing?”  
        “Pretending she’s not in love, sweetie.”  
        “With the king?” Tauriel nodded and Callon frowned. “Why? He seems to like her too.”  
       “He does. Grown-ups are silly sometimes.”  
       “Oh. Then why is she helping him plan this party?”  
       “I told you, grown-ups can be silly sometimes.” Tauriel gave her daughter a smile.   
       “Can we help them, _Nana?”_  
“No. I already tried. They’ll have to work this out by themselves.”  
       Callon nodded. “Will you tell me soon what I may call the king after he and Gram get married?”  
       Tauriel laughed and hugged her daughter. “Yes, darling. I promise, if that ever happens, I’ll let you know what you may call the king.”  
       The night of the ball, Tauriel helped Callon get dressed, then she and Dís hurried through their toilette, as all three of them were to be in the receiving line with the king. Callon danced around her mother’s room, enjoying the way her new dress belled out as she spun and moved. It was white, with bright blue flowers and green vines, and Dís had given her one of her own necklaces to wear. It was small, with square links, but Callon was feeling very grow-up to be trusted with it and kept touching it to make sure it was still around her neck.  
         Tauriel scooped half of her hair into a thick braid and the rest into a tight bun to support the tiara she was going to wear. It was also out of Dís’ jewelry box, but the pink stones matched the flowers and vines on her otherwise starkly black dress. Dís wore red and black. The dress’s gauzy sleeves had given her pause, but the seamstress assured her it would look well. After much fussing, Asny braided Dís’ hair and wound the thick braid around the back of her head. One small section of hair she curled and let it fall over Dís’ shoulder. With the addition of a garnet and ruby tiara and a matching necklace, Dís almost felt beautiful.  
         In the foyer, the three gave each other a last inspection. Tauriel adjusted Callon’s ribbons that had come loose, and Dís considered wearing a wrap. She was not sure someone her age should be seen in public with a _décolletage_ that low. Tauriel swatted away her hands as Dís tugged it up, and pivoted her towards the door.  
        “I don’t like it,” Dís protested. She had a vision of Thranduil drooling down at her cleavage. Tauriel shook her head.  
        “Too late now.” She opened the door before Dís could try and escape and stepped back in surprise. Thranduil was standing in the hallway, prepared to knock. Instantly, all three princesses straightened and curtsied.   
         “Good evening, ladies. I see everyone is ready to go. Callon, your dress is very pretty.”  
         Callon grinned. “Gram let me wear her necklace. I have to be careful with it.”  
         “And I’m sure you will be,” he assured her, and she preened under the praise. He nodded at Tauriel.  
         “Those are some unusual gems, Tauriel.”  
         “Courtesy of my darling mother-in-law, I’m afraid.”  
         “You can tell they are of Dwarfish make, but they suit you.”  
         Dís laughed. “Then you may have them, Tauriel. I’ve never worn them; pink is not my colour.”  
         “Thank you, Dís.”   
         Thranduil took a long time to study Dís, and she was silently cursing because he had decided to wear red and black as well. The cuffs on his outer robe were black, embroidered in red with abstract designs. The rest of his clothes were dark, nearly burgundy red, with subtle black designs. She sighed.  
 _‘I’m going to kill Asny when we get back,’ she thought darkly. ‘I told her to make sure we didn’t match!’_  
        _“Nana,”_ Callon whispered to her mother. “Gram and the king match. It looks pretty.”  
        Dís groaned and Thranduil gave her a real smile. “I could not agree more, Princess Callon.” He offered Dís his arm, and she reluctantly stepped forward and took it. Tauriel shut the door and they headed down to the ballroom. Their guests would be arriving shortly.  
        Now, as the lights in ballroom spun past in a blur, Dís couldn’t suppress a sigh. Thranduil’s head tilted slightly in question.  
        “Why won’t you just give up?” she asked. He offered her a languid smile.  
         “Because that will not make either of us happy.” He touched the loose curls on her shoulder and she couldn’t stop the delighted shiver that ran through her body as his fingers brushed her shoulder and came tantalizingly close to the swell of her breast.  
          “What do you know of my happiness, Elf-king?”  
          “Very little, Princess. You will not let me in. But, I’ve never been known for giving up on something I want.”  
          Dís looked away. Her gaze fell on Callon who was watching them dance. She was smiling happily and squeezing her mother’s hand. Dís’ eyes darted back to her partner.  
          “What is Callon so excited about?”  
          “I . . . don’t know. But a girl’s first ball is usually quite exciting for her.”   
         Earlier, Bard’s 19 year old son, Bain, had made Callon very happy by dancing with her without being told to by his father. Dáin had also danced with her, and so did her cousin Frerin. Callon was quite satisfied with her first ball.   
          The music ended and Thranduil held Dís for a moment longer, before he stepped back and bowed. Dís offered a low curtsey, and accepted his arm as they exited the dance floor. Their guests applauded as he led her back to her seat. Another couple moved to the floor and Thranduil resumed his seat between his fellow monarchs.  
        “Dís, you look beautiful out there,” Dáin saluted her with his glass. She nodded her thanks and turned to Callon.  
         “What are you so happy about?” she asked with a smile.  
         Callon sighed in undisguised envy. “You looked like a princess in my storybooks.” Tauriel and Dís shared a grin over her head. Around the room, the dwarves and Men that had been invited were picking up the latest gossip about the elf-king and the dwarf princess.  
          Dís could feel the eyes of the guests boring into her. She wondered if Thranduil noticed. He seemed not to. At the moment, he was listening to a ribald comment from Dáin, while Bard was laughing and making sure his son wasn’t in earshot. The guests seemed to be enjoying themselves. Lady Sigrid and Lady Tilda were not lacking for partners, and they seemed to like Callon.   
         Dáin had brought his youngest son, Frerin with him and the prince was trying to get one of the elf ladies in attendance to stand up with him—so far unsuccessfully. Tauriel had danced with Bard, Dáin, and Thranduil and was now refusing every other offer.   
Dís glanced towards the dining room as the steward emerged. He caught her eye and nodded. The music slowly faded out.  
         “Your Royal Highnesses; lords, ladies, and gentlemen: Dinner is served,” The steward announced. Thranduil stood up and offered Dís his arm again.  
         “You just cannot escape me,” he whispered. Dís refused to look at him.  
         “It is the price I must pay, since you insisted I be your hostess.”  
Bard offered to escort Tauriel and Bain walked with Callon, leaving Dáin and Frerin happily with the Dale princesses.  
        To satisfy the palates of all her guests, Dís had brought it two more chefs—one from Dale and one from Erebor. For several days after they arrived, there was much tension on the kitchen before she was finally able to separate the chefs into three different kitchens.   
         The results were a groaning table of delicacies from three cultures, and the reward for the stress the kitchen staff had been under was the murmurings of delight from the guests. Dís finally felt herself relax. Dinner was the last huge potential stumbling block of the evening, and it seemed she had passed it with great success.  
          The Erebor Dwarves and the Men of Dale were a bit more adventurous when it came to food than the elves were, but Dís was pleased to see that everyone eventually sampled some of everything that was on offer. Dáin watched his cousin monitoring the reactions of the assembly and laughed softly.  
          “Thranduil, how much longer are you going to make her wait?”   
          Thranduil frowned slightly at Dáin. “Whatever do you mean?”  
          “Dís! I’ve all but locked her in your bedchamber! When are you going to finally marry her? She’s too precious a gem to leave lying around.”  
         Bard and Thranduil exchanged slightly modified glances and Thranduil cleared his throat. “Well, if she ever stops saying no, Dáin, I’ll let you know.”  
         “She—you—what? Give over! Dís isn’t like that! She’s not the sort of girl—”  
         “Dáin,” Bard interrupted him. “I’ve been meaning to ask to you—for New Years—I wanted to come up a few days early. I really haven’t seen much of Erebor since the rebuilding was completed.”  
         Thranduil nodded to Bard in thanks and glanced down table at Dís. She was holding court with several Men, a couple of dwarves, and even a few elves. All of them were listening to her, clearly fascinated by what she was saying. She was in her element, whether she knew it or not. Dáin was right—she was a gem. Her face was slightly flushed from the heat of the room, the wine, and the energy of the people surrounding them. She was vibrant, and glowing, and Thranduil was really glad—and simultaneously annoyed—that they were in a room full of people because he really wanted to kiss her until she couldn’t even remember her own name.  
          Dís could feel the king’s eyes on her, and despite herself, she turned to look at him. The raw heat in his gaze made her feel as if she was sitting there without a stitch of clothing. A warmth she hadn’t felt in her veins in a long time, quickly settled in her stomach and she looked away. She reached for her wine glass, then set it down without drinking. The last thing she needed was to be drunk.   
           Tauriel watched Dís fumble with her wine glass as Thranduil tried to stare her into submission. She sighed with envy. If a man she liked were looking at her with that much need, there wouldn’t be a safe corner in the world for him to hide in. She glanced at Callon who was doing her best to keep her eyes open. She excused herself and took her daughter to bed.  
           When she returned, dinner was wrapping up and everyone was making their way back into the ballroom. Dís was talking to Sigrid and gamely trying to ignore Thranduil. Tauriel sat beside her mother-in-law.  
           “Dís,” she said quietly. “You’d better do something quickly, because . . . he’s this close to ravishing you in front of . . . everybody in this room.”  
           Dís blushed. “What do you want me to do?! He’s old enough to control himself!”  
           “Dís, if tonight has told you anything, it’s that there will be no adverse consequences if you follow your heart. Legolas will pout, but he’s a big boy, he’ll get over it.”  
            “Tauriel—”  
            “Dís. There is no rule anywhere that says you are only allowed to be happy once in your life. I firmly believe that. I’m not suggesting that you forget your husband, but you and Thranduil have so much to give each other. You would . . . balance him.”  
             Dís glanced at Thranduil, who was watching her intently. She turned away. Across the room, one of the dwarves from Erebor that had accompanied Dáin approached her with Dáin’s son at his side. The dwarf was young, but sported a short, neatly braided and beaded brown beard and mustache. He had friendly green eyes, and had been watching Dís closely the entire night.   
             They stopped beside her seat and bowed. She gave them a polite smile.  
              “Princess Dís,” Frerin smiled. “Please give me leave to introduce my friend to you.” Dís gave her assent, and the prince’s smile widened. “Then may I present Lord Rhin, son of Rinar. We grew up together in the Iron Hills.”  
             Dís inclined her head. “School fellows then?” she asked. Lord Rhin bowed over her hand.  
             “I’m afraid not, your Highness. Prince Frerin was a few years ahead of me.” Dís’ eyes widened. Lord Rhin was just barely entering his majority!   
            “Then . . . you . . . can’t be much above . . . fifty!” He gave her a charming smile and Dís couldn’t help but sigh. He really was quite good-looking up close. From his seat, Thranduil was watching all of this with narrowed eyes. Tauriel glanced over her shoulder at Thranduil then elbowed Dís lightly. Dís ignored her.  
           “I am two and eighty, your Highnesss,” Lord Rhin assured her. Tauriel shook her head. He was only a year older than Fili was when he died. Dís stared at both young men. Her cousin was still grinning at his friend and Lord Rhin was watching Dís carefully.  
           “I hope you will forgive the impertinence, but you are very beautiful. I have been begging the prince to introduce us for over a year. Until tonight, he has stoutly refused me. In light of my struggle, would you do me the honor of standing up with me?”  
           Tauriel’s eyebrow rose. The boy was charming alright, but not the way Kili had been. Kili was young and he knew it. His charm lay in the fact that he didn’t really expect anyone to take him seriously because he was so young. Lord Rhin, however, seemed to have no such restraints. Dís considered for a moment, then rose and took Lord Rhin’s hand.  
           “I would be delighted, my lord.” He proudly led her on to the dance floor and Thranduil carefully set his wine glass on a passing tray before he snapped the delicate stem. Bard shook his head.  
          “He’s a boy, Thranduil. I’ve come to better understand how dwarves and elves age. It’d be like Bain trying to court Princess Tauriel.”  
          _‘That’s hardly comforting,’_ Thranduil thought darkly as the two small figures glided smoothly through the steps of the dance. _‘Tauriel was caught by a boy that age.’_  
          Dáin huffed into his beard and glared at Frerin as the youth joined his father. “What were you thinking?”  
          Frerin shrugged. “Rhin a decent dwarf,” he said. “And he has been begging for an introduction for over a year. I refused before now because I didn’t think he was ready. But he’s fully come into his title and he is ready to start looking for a wife.”  
           Bard choked on his drink and Dáin frowned. “And you think your widowed cousin, with sons his age, would be a good place for him to start his search?!”  
           Frerin laughed. “Father, Rhin’s right—Dís is beautiful. And she’s not too old to have more children. Besides, he might change his mind now that he’s met her.”  
           Bard watched the couple as the dance ended. Both of the dwarves were smiling affably at each other, and Dís was flushed. Lord Rhin looked immensely pleased. He led Dís back to her seat and hurried off, only to return a moment later with a cup of punch for her. She accepted it and he sat beside her to keep talking.  
            Sigrid and Tilda exchanged looks with Tauriel, and the three of them rose as one and crossed to the other side of the room to huddle and whisper. Thranduil kept his eyes fixed on a pillar on the far side of the room and mentally counted down slowly from 100. There was no reason on earth to be jealous of the pup. He was far too old for such nonsense. The boy would —at most — hover around Dís for a few days like an annoying gnat, and then the dwarves would go back to Erebor. Maybe even sooner than originally planned if the murderous look on Dáin’s face was any indicator.  
             And he, Thranduil, would still be there. Nothing would have been lost by this. He reached 45 in his count. The slight weight of the silver Promise Ring he had been hoping to give Dís that night felt like lead in his pocket.  
           This was merely a minor inconvenience—a bridge with a few missing planks. It could be repaired and everyone could continue forward. He reached 20. Of course, Lord Rhin would not be welcome in the Woodland Realm again until the End of All Days, but that hardly signified.   
          _‘10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . .7—’_  
           Lord Rhin took Dís’ hand and kissed it. She raised her fan and turned her face away, laughing. Thranduil focused more firmly on the pillar.  
 _‘7 . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1._ _None of this must register on an emotional level. I have party guests tonight, and houseguests for the next several days. This is about them and their needs.’_  
          He survived the ball room. Couples were still dancing, everyone was still mingling, and talking. He turned to look at the three princesses in the corner. They were still whispering, but Tauriel’s ridged posture said they were not talking about anything pleasant. Bain stood up, drawing the elf’s attention. He marched down the dais to Dís.  
           “Lady Dís, since you are being so kind to us unpopular youth tonight, would you be above dancing with me as well?”  
           She laughed and rose immediately. “You are hardly unfortunate, Prince Bain.” She excused herself to Lord Rhin and let Bain lead her to the floor. Bain threw the dwarf lord a black look over his shoulder, then turned to talk to Dís. Thranduil almost smiled. Rhin and Bain were approximately the same age. Dáin chuckled and saluted Bard with his glass. Bard shook his head.  
           “I didn’t do anything.”   
           Meanwhile, Lord Rhin seemed totally unconcerned. He watched Dís dancing with Prince Bain, and applauded with the rest of the guests when they left the floor. She resumed her place beside him, though Bain stayed nearby for a while, forcing Lord Rhin to include him in the conversation. Tilda noticed what her brother was doing, and unhurriedly made her way over to join the little group. Thranduil’s eyebrow rose as Tilda began flirting with Lord Rhin. He seemed startled and gave Dís a confused look, before turning to talk to Tilda. Once it became clear that all of the young people were equivalently close in age, Tilda suggested that they make a party of the young people the following morning and have a picnic lunch outdoors.  
           Bain seconded the idea and even Dís smiled. “That sounds like a delightful amusement,” she agreed. “Everyone rides, so perhaps the beach on the lake might be a good spot to rest for lunch?”  
           Tilda waved Sigrid and Tauriel over and Frerin came down to see what was going on. Lord Rhin sighed as his private time with the princess was swallowed up with picnic planning. Thranduil, Bain, and Dáin were rather enjoying the scene below though. Thranduil felt himself relaxing again. He sighed.  
           “Bard, I may have to formally adopt your son as my heir. He’s far more mature than mine.”  
            All three kings laughed and Thranduil was glad he could find something amusing among the wreck of his evening’s plans.  
            The ball ended soon after, and Thranduil walked Tauriel and Dís back to their apartment after the last of their guests retired for the evening. Tauriel was holding the king’s arm tightly and she looked quite annoyed. Dís was quiet and pensive. The king was more interesting in what Dís was thinking about than what was bothering Tauriel.   
            They arrived at the ladies’ door, and Tauriel hurried inside with a terse good night. Thranduil grabbed Dís’ hand to keep her from following. She gave him a polite smile.  
            “My Lord?”  
            “Princess, if I could just have a moment?” Thranduil pointed towards his rooms. Dís looked towards her apartment door.  
           “It’s very late—” she started to protest, but he was already heading towards his apartment, her hand still firmly in his custody.  
          “Dís, we didn’t get to talk much this evening,” Thranduil said as he shut the door behind them.   
          She shook her head. “No, we did not,” she said lightly. “But, I do believe that tonight proved once and for all that you are a gracious host. You should have no issues in the future with any gatherings.   
         And I’m sure whatever you weren’t totally happy with can be addressed another time, though, everything went smoothly. Your staff actually listened to me, which made my job a thousand—”  
          Her babbling was cut off as his lips descended over hers. Thranduil tried to keep his frustration at having his plans thwarted from coming through in his kiss, but when he pulled away, Dís’ lips were swollen, her hair was mussed, and her eyes were glazed.  
          Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a second, so he kissed her again, gently this time.  
          “Princess . . . Dís, we need to talk.” He led her over to the sofa and pulled her down beside him. Dís was too shocked to really react.           The first time Thranduil kissed her, she had fled to the safety of her room. She wanted to flee now, but at the moment, she couldn’t get her legs to obey her. She looked down at his hand as he reached for hers.   
           “Dís, for the last three years, you have been running away from me, deliberately avoiding me, and willfully misunderstanding me. I have done everything in my power to get you to understand and acknowledge that we are interested in each other. I want to prove it to you.”  
            Dís shook her head. “No, you can’t be. I . . . refuse to acknowledge things that aren’t true. It would be foolish—”  
            He cut her off with another smothering kiss. “Dís, stop. I can hear your heart pounding. Your pupils are dilated. You’re flushed, and you can’t . . . stop . . . panting.”  
            Dís took a shuttering breath and tried to lean away from him.             “So what?”  
            “You and I desire the same thing,” he told her quietly. “But I want it to be permanent.”  
            “Why?” She shook her head, praying he wasn’t about to say something foolish. He sat back slightly.  
            “When you are beside me, I feel calm; I can think again. Your life is so short compared to mine, and I know it won’t last forever, but I believe we can be happy with one another.” He paused. “I’m asking you to marry me.”   
            Dís resisted the tug on her heart at the vague desperation in his voice. “I . . . thought . . . you weren’t . . . going to beg.”  
           “I’m not. I’m . . . confessing.”    
            Dís wasn’t even aware that she was crying until he brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb.   
           “Please, do not dismiss me—dismiss us,” he said softly.  
            She stared up at him, and desperately wanted to agree. The man before her at that moment wasn’t the King of The Woodland Realm. He was a lonely soul, who had seen far too much, in a life lived for far too long. And he thought she—of all beings on this earth—could bring him some fleeting comfort, and he was begging, despite his denial.   
             She reached up and slid her hand along his right cheek, and into his soft, pale hair. He leaning into her palm, and Dís drew him to her until their foreheads met.  
             “You’re going to refuse me, aren’t you?” he asked softly, closing his eyes. Dís felt her throat close for moment and swallowed hard.  
             “I have to,” she said, her voice husky with unshed tears. “This would never work. You will be condemned for it.” She kissed his forehead as if he were one of her sons and raised his face, kissing him softly on the lips, like a lover.  
             “I am honored by your proposal, but . . . I can’t marry you. I’m sorry.”  
             She drew away, and he tightened his grip on her hand, keeping her in place.   
            “I cannot accept that. I want to know why. Why are you determined to doom us both to a lifetime of misery?”  
            “If I marry you, we will have just that,” Dís said softly. “Your people would never accept me as your wife or their queen, and they would be right to do so.”  
            “That’s not an answer.” Thranduil tried to keep his tone even. He hadn’t expected her to dismiss him out of hand, and wondered again for the thousandth time if he had been misreading her the entire time.  
          Dís frowned slightly. “I am sorry. I _cannot_ accept you. Not ever.”  
          “But why not?” he demanded.  
           Dís pulled out of his grip with a sob. “You are a fool, Elf-king! You of all people know how dwarrow are viewed by the world in general and elves in particular!”  
          “I don’t care about the world!” He couldn’t believe they were arguing about this. “I care about us!” Thranduil ran his finger through his hair, mussing the usually immaculate strands. Dís clenched her fists, resisting the urge to fix the tousle.  
           “Dís, do you  _honestly_ think I wanted this? Yes, I have spent my entire life _utterly detesting_ Dwarves, and then _you_ come along. You’re an intelligent, beautiful woman, and even faced with every _possible_ piece of ill-fate the world could trouble you with; when I saw you four years ago, you were forging ahead with a foolish move to the other side of the world, with literally nothing but your own name.”  
           “So you pitied me,” Dís asked coldly.  
           “No,” Thranduil shook his head. “I admired that. Because I’ve been there. And I wanted to get to know you. And I have, and every day, I like what I find.”  
           He sighed. “Maybe it’s punishment. Ilúvatar accepted Aulë’s Children, but I could not? And so I am to be punished by desiring and loving a woman who will not have me.”  
          Dís looked away. “I’m won’t leave here. I want to be with Callon, but I do not wish to hurt you. If I have to move elsewhere in the palace—”  
           “The only place you will be moving,” he said harshly, getting to his feet. “Is from there,” he pointed towards her apartment. “To here.”  
           “Thranduil, just . . . find . . . _somebody_ else,” Dís was begging. Thranduil shook his head.  
            “It doesn’t work that way. You know that. It’s not a tap.”  
             Dís bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Thranduil. I really, really am.”   
             She bolted, not bothering to close his door behind her. Dís ran to her room and began yanking off jewelry and hair pins. Something popped off and rolled under the dresser.   
            With a huff, she knelt down to retrieve it and realized she couldn’t see. She was crying. Dís sat back and put her hands over her mouth to muffle herself. She knew elves didn’t sleep much, and she had a feeling Tauriel was still up.  
            She lowered her head into her lap and sobbed into the fabric of her dress. It was so beautiful and Asny had worked hard on it, but Dís knew when she took it off, she never wanted to see this dress again as long as she lived. Finally, she calmed enough to push herself to her feet and she wiggled out of the dress. She held the fabric to her face and took a shuddering breath.  
            _‘Thranduil, please forgive. I wish we could be together, but I cannot endure the derision and the isolation and the condemnation such a match would bring. And Callon would surely suffer it after me. Please don’t hate me.’_  
  
***  
  
          Thranduil returned to his room. He could _feel_ Dís crying. He closed his eyes and tried to resist the urge to return to her, comfort her. When he was married, he and his wife had, over time, developed a weak connection that allowed them to sense what the other was feeling, but until that moment, he had not realized how superficial that tentative link had been. It felt like Dís was in the room with him, and her grief was eating at him.   
          He went into his bedroom, and shut the door. When he was in the Queen’s Apartment the day Dís and her family moved in, he had been checking to see which room Dís had chosen and he was pleased to see that her room and his shared a wall. Now, he pulled off his outer robe and tossed it over a chair. He walked over to their common wall and closed his eyes. It seemed that this was as close to her as he was ever going to get. He dropped to his knees.  
           “Dís, please. You have to stop crying. Please. You’re hurting me.” After a few minutes, her sobs became quiet shudders and he sighed. “Sleep, my Queen. One of us at least must rest.”  
           Finally, she fell into unconsciousness, and he felt a little calmer. Thranduil turned around and sat with his back against the wall and closed his eyes. He sat there for a long time, wishing the evening had ended differently. Finally, he pushed himself to his feet and quickly changed clothes, intending to escape to his office.   
            His pants dropped to the floor as he pulled them off, and the Promise Ring pinged to the floor and rolled under the bed. He paused to listen to it finally settle just out of reach, in the middle of the floor at the head of the bed. He smirked at the irony and continued changing his clothes.  
  
***


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Udad[oo-dah-d] Khuzdul; Greater Father (I'm applying it to mean Grandfather since Tolkien helpfully gave us very few family terms.)
> 
> ***

           Callon was _not_ happy. It had been a month since her first ball. When she fell asleep half way through it, and had to be put to bed, everyone was happy and smiling. When she woke up that next morning, everyone was sad. Gram’s face was blotchy and her eyes were red from crying. _Nana_ looked sad, and the king was looking depressed, too. He still came each night to read to her, but Gram locked herself in her room when he arrived or went for a walk. And the king would silently watch her go.   
          There was no more sitting close together, no more saying things to make Gram turn red, no more sneaking and kissing Gram’s hand when they thought she wasn’t looking. No-one was happy and it was making her _mad_!  
          She looked across the nursery at Gram. She was sitting in her usual spot, a book open on her lap, her knitting beside her. She wasn’t reading or knitting though. She was looking out the window and absently rubbing her chest, like she was having trouble breathing. She had been gazing out the window all day, just like she did _all day, every day_ now.  
          Callon’s more sensitive ears caught the tread of the king’s steps outside the nursery door. He came there nearly every day now, too. But he always stopped in the hall for a while then went away without coming in. She frowned. This was not what was supposed to happen! The beautiful Princess and the handsome Prince (or handsome King in this instance), were supposed to fall in love at the ball, get married, and then everyone lived Happily Ever After! Something terrible must have happened while she was sleeping, Callon finally decided, thoughtfully stroking her bow.  
        _‘Gram and_ Nana _say that Wicked Witches aren’t real,’_ she mused. _‘And the Enemy is dormant for now. Besides, Nana says he wants to rule the World. I don’t think keeping Gram from marrying the king has any part in that.’_ She stood and slowly paced the room as Thranduil’s steps finally retreated. _‘Why doesn’t he come in? Gram always says talking about your feeling is better than keeping them inside. She says there is more room outside than in.’_  
          Callon looked at the door. Gram liked to argue with the king, but as far as Callon could tell, Gram wasn’t serious, and the king always laughed at her, so clearly, he didn’t think she was serious either. But what if they had a For Real fight?  
           She whipped around and looked at her grandmother. Dís had closed her book and was carefully placing it in the bag with her knitting. That meant it was time to go home. Callon put her bow away and waited by the door. She hadn’t pulled out any other toys since she didn’t much feel like playing these days, so there was no mess to clean up.   
          “Callon, put away—” Dís looked up and was surprised to see Callon leaning on the wall by the door. “Oh, you already did. Good girl. Gram’s feeling a bit tired. Let’s go home.”  
          Callon took her hand and they walked slowly down the hall to their apartment. The guards that were on duty bowed as they passed as they usually did. Callon turned to wave, and nearly stumbled as Dís suddenly collapsed, almost falling on Callon.  
          “Gram!” Callon screamed, terrified. The guards rushed forward.  
          “Your Majesty!” One of them pulled Callon away and someone else ran to summon a healer and find Tauriel. Callon tried to keep from crying, but Gram looked like she was dead.  
          The guard holding her out of the way patted Callon on the shoulder. “Your grandmother will be alright, Princess Callon. She’s likely just overtired.”  
          “Really?” Callon asked, grasping at this faint thread of hope. The guard nodded.  
          “Look! See, she’s waking up already.” The healer Camaenil arrived followed a few seconds later by the king and a frantic Nana. Camaenil knelt beside Gram while Tauriel looked around anxiously for her daughter.  
          “ _Nana_!” _Nana_ saw her and rushed over, pulling Callon into a fierce hug. She looked up at the guard.   
          “Gaelien, what happened?”  
          Callon wasn’t listening as the guard explained to _Nana_ what happened. She was watching the king help Gram sit up. He was looking very worried and Camaenil was frowning at him. Gram leaned back against him as he rose smoothly to his feet, Gram in his arms.   
          Callon knew Gram was smaller than everyone else in the palace except her, but cradled in the king’s arms, Gram looked very tiny.       Callon wriggled free of _Nana’s_ embrace and raced after the king and the healer.  
         “Callon,” _Nana_ called. “Stay with me. You’ll get in their way!” Callon didn’t stop, thought she was sure she would catch it later for ignoring Nana. She didn’t want to, but Gram and the king needed her.   
 _Something_ had gotten in the way of their fairytale, and she had to be close-by if they mentioned anything she could use. She had to fix this; the ending was all messed up.  
          Callon darted between the king’s legs and pushed the door to their apartment open. He grunted his thanks, and carried Gram directly to her room. Callon trotted after him, and slid nimbly under the bed before _Nana_ caught up to her. She saw Camaenil’s soft brown boots and the king’s shiny silver ones. Callon really loved his boots. After he married Gram, she was going to ask if she could have her own pair. Since that was something only the king wore, she hopped he might make a special exception for his new granddaughter and let her have some.  
           In some of her favorite stories, the heroines always had an _Ada_ , a _Nana_ , or a Gram and an _Udad_. Callon had only two of those. She knew her Ada had died before she was born, just like his _Ada_ had, so she wasn’t holding out much hope on getting one of those. But an _Udad_ she could get.  
           The silver boots rested side by side and the bed dipped. The king had sat down. Callon breathed slowly, hoping to hear them.  
           “What’s wrong with her?” he asked the healer. Gram groaned softy, then gasped.  
           “Thranduil! What are you doing in here!  _GET OUT_!” Callon cringed and buried her face in her hands. Gram sounded like she was about to cry.  
           “Dís, you fainted,” the king said softly. The bed shifted slightly as Camaenil leaned over to examine Dís.  
           “Have you been sleeping, your Majesty?” the healer asked. This caught Callon’s ear. The guards had called Gram that too. Normally, people only called the king that. Gram didn’t seem to notice.  
          “A bit,” she said. “But not through the night.”  
          “When did this start?” Camaenil stepped back, and the bed shifted back.   
          “A . . . a few weeks ago. But that’s hardly unusual. The older we get, the less we sleep.”  
          “Your Majesty, how old do you _think_ you are? You seem to be laboring under the impression you’re a geriatric. You’re barely middle aged. Have your Courses stopped yet?”  
          Gram didn’t say anything, and Callon wondered what they were talking about. Gram must have responded non-verbally though, because the healer sniffed.  
          “Exactly. You are still well within your child birthing years. You are not a tottering geriatric! And it is not normal for someone _your age_ to not be sleeping through the night.” Camaenil sighed.   
          “Considering the average weight of a dwarf your age, you are at least fifteen pounds less than you should be. That, along with increased stress, and lack of sleep led to your fainting spell this afternoon. You must eat. No more skipping meals, even if you don’t feel like eating. I’ll make you something to help you sleep, and I will administer it for the next few nights.”  
           She turned and the brown boots moved towards the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with the draught.”  
           The door opened and closed and Gram was left with the king. Callon curled up into a ball and waited. The bed shifted where Gram was lying.  
            “You’ve done your good deed for the day. Please leave.”  
            “Dís, you can’t keep doing this. You might refuse to marry me and relieve my suffering, but think about what this will do to Callon! She needs you healthy.”  
          _‘Gram refused to marry the king?!’_ Callon bit her knuckles to keep from crying. That couldn’t be right!  
            “Thranduil, please, just go away.” Gram sounded like she was crying. The silver boots shifted, but the king didn’t stand up.  
            “Dís, you’re hurting me as well. We’ll both be sick if you don’t stop.”   
            Gram hiccupped a watery laugh. “Elves can’t get sick.”  
            “Not the way mortals do, no.” The bed shifted as the king leaned over, and Callon put her hands over her ears.  
            _‘Ew! I bet he’s kissing her!’_ she thought, wrinkling her nose. The bed shifted back and she dropped her hands.  
            “Dís, I told you I can’t let this go. And trying to make yourself sick isn’t helping either of us.”  
            “I’m not trying to. I just haven’t felt like eating.” Gram sounded like she was pouting, and a small smile ghosted past Callon’s lips. So, Gram sometimes pouted, too. Who knew?  
            “I know. You are _right_ here. I felt it when you lost consciousness this afternoon. It’s was a different feeling from when you sleep. It . . . was like a . . . door slammed between us and I couldn’t feel you anymore.”  
             “So, at least you know what my death will be like,” Gram said and Callon shivered at her tone. The king evidently didn’t like it either because the bed sprang up and the silver boots moved closer to the door.  
              “Dís, that scared me more that my first battle did. I was with my father, facing down the full might of Sauron’s army. Then, I felt confident in my training and contempt for the enemy before me. When we got separated just now, it felt like my _heart_ stopped.” The king sighed and the boots returned to the bed, but he didn’t sit down again.  
              “Try and sleep, Dís. I need to go find Callon and Tauriel.” The boots returned to the door. They stayed for another moment, as if the king had something else to say, then he pulled open the door and departed.   
              Callon didn’t move. She heard the king talking to _Nana_ , then their steps moved down the hall. Camaenil returned, and while she was giving Gram her medicine, Callon slipped out and hid in the Night Nursery. She went into the closet and pulled her knees up against her chest.  
             The king had said Gram was refusing to marry him. The stories never said the princess refused unless it was an ogre or the villain trying to force her into a marriage she didn’t want. But the king wasn’t the villain, he was the _hero_! Callon shook her head, refusing to believe that.  
             Villain—she sat up, kicking her legs out so fast the closet door swung open. At the ball! Some of the guards had been talking about another man sitting close to Gram! Callon began pacing.  
             She was already in bed by the time that happened, but she was now beginning to think this Other Man was the villain. He must have done something to Gram so that she would refuse the king! Callon frowned and stared towards the door. Nana would know who the Other Man was, and Callon was going to find out where he was and make him undo what he’d done to Gram!  
              As she passed the mirror, she caught her reflection and winced. She was covered in dust, which would tell _Nana_ where she had been hiding. Callon sighed and went to the nightstand to get her brush. Gram had been too listless to braid her hair that morning, so it was flying all over the place. She brushed the dust out, then mussed it back up with her fingers. She brushed off her clothes as best she could with her hands then marched into the sitting room.  
           The king was standing by the window and _Nana_ was pacing. Callon stopped in the doorway. _Nana_ noticed her and ran over.  
           “Oh! Callon! Where were you?” Callon didn’t like lying to _Nana_ , but this time, she needed to.  
           “I was hiding in my closet,” she said. _Nana_ looked relieved.  
“I didn’t check in there,” she said, pulling Callon in for a hug, and Callon felt bad. “I know what happened to Gram just now was scary, but she’ll be okay. You and Nana will help Gram get better.”  
           Callon nodded and looked at the king. He was still facing out the window. “Tauriel, go sit with Dís for a while. I will remain here until you return.”  
 _Nana_ nodded and kissed Callon on the cheek. “Mind the king.” She hurried out. Callon crossed her hands behind her back, the same way the king was standing. He turned and gave her a small smile.  
          “Were you _really_ in your closet, Princess Callon?” he asked. Callon nodded.  
          “Just now.” His smile dimmed slightly and he turned back to the window.  
          “How young we learn to inveigle the truth,” he muttered. Callon didn’t understand what he said, so she waited, still mirroring his posture. Finally, he sighed and sat down on the sofa and crossed his long legs.   
          “Callon, come and sit with me.”  
          She crossed the room, and sat beside him, trying with limited success to copy his posture. Thranduil sat up, leaning his elbow on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. Callon couldn’t do that since her legs didn’t reach far enough to give her a proper lap. She settled on cradling her chin in one hand and he smiled slightly.  
          “Callon, your grandmother will be okay in a few days. She may need to stay in bed while she’s getting better, so please make every effort to obey whoever is looking after you.”   
          Callon nodded. The king sat back and took her tiny hand.  
          “Callon, you kept asking anyone who would hear you what you should call me if I married Gram.”  
          Callon nodded again. “But you haven’t married Gram yet.” She kicked her feet and felt terrible about her lie. “I was hiding under Gram’s bed,” she admitted softly. The king smiled.  
          “I know. I saw you slid under there.”  
          “But I really did just come from the closet in my room” she added hastily. “I sit in there to think.”   
          “I used to do that, too,” the king confessed. Callon grinned.   
          “It’s the best Thinking Spot,” she agreed.  
          “Yes, it was. However, a Thinking Spot won’t solve my current problem. I’m sure you have questions, so go ahead and ask. I promise I won’t tell your mother.”  
          Callon made him Pinky Swear, then took a deep breath. “Why would Gram refuse to marry you?” she blurted. “That’s not the way the story goes! The Princess and the King get married and have Happily Ever After!”  
          Thranduil smiled and gave Callon a squeeze around her shoulders. “That only happens in fairy-stories, Princess Callon. In real life, sometimes the Princess says no, and the King must learn to accept it.”  
          Callon shook her head, pulling away. “No! That’s not true! I have to find the Other Man, and demand he undoes whatever he did to Gram! Then, you’ll be able to come and sit with us again, and Gram will turn red, and let you kiss her hand again! And then you can get married and I’ll finally have my _Udad_! That’s how the story goes!”   
           Callon was mortified to discover she was crying. She rubbed her eyes to push away the burning sensation, but the tears rushed out anyway. She cried harder, embarrassed that she couldn’t stop.  
Thranduil pulled her into his lap, and hugged her, ignoring the fact that she was crying and her nose was dripping on his clothes.  
           “Oh, Callon. I wish it could work that way. But there isn’t another man in this story. Just the king being a fool.”  
           She shook her head and sat back, still rubbing her eyes. “You’re not a fool! You’re my  _Udad_ , but I can’t _call_ you that until you marry Gram!” She looked away and he reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. He held it to her still dripping nose.  
           “Blow.” When her face was clean, he hugged her again. “Callon, you can’t help me and Gram. We have to work this out ourselves. But you can still call me ‘ _Udad_ ’ if you want.”  
            Callon shook her head. “It’s special,” she muttered. “You have to marry Gram first. That’s how it works.”   
            Her shoulders slumped and she sagged against him. Her thumb found its way to her mouth and Thranduil was struck by how very _young_ Callon was. In her world, there were only absolutes and set rules—black and white, good and bad. You were the hero or you were the villain. Things happened in a specific order and deviation was chaos.   
            He rubbed her back until her breathing evened out and she slept. Her neck was crooked at an odd angle, so he slid down bit so she was more prone and sighed.  
            _‘Callon, I’m sorry you feel like you have to own this. I guess we all just forgot about you in the kerfuffle. We are the adults here, not you. We must do better.’_  
  
  
***  
  
            Tauriel sat with Dís until she fell asleep and returned to the sitting room. Thranduil was cradling a still napping Callon against his chest with one hand and reading one of Dís’ romance novels that had been on the table with the other. Tauriel leaned against the door jamb to memorize how cute they looked. Thranduil balanced the book on his leg and turned the page one-handed.  
           “Anytime you want to come in, feel free,” he said without looking up. Tauriel pushed herself upright and came over to gently remove Callon from his arms.  
           “I guess today was too much for her,” Tauriel kissed the child’s cheek and took her down to her room. Thranduil closed the book and returned it to the table. Dís was sleeping soundly, and he was no more use here. He rose and started out the door.   
            Tauriel retuned. “Sire?”  
            He paused. “Yes, Tauriel?”  
           “This afternoon—” she hesitated. They had been in a meeting with several other officers when the king had suddenly gone quite grey in the face and stood up abruptly, running out the door. Tauriel followed him, confused at his sudden departure. They had met the guard just down the hall to the Family Quarters. Thranduil didn’t stop to hear his message though. He kept moving, so Tauriel paused to hear him.  
             “You knew.” He nodded.  
            “I knew _something_ happened.” He turned back to the door.  
            “My Lord, you _have_ to make her understand that this will not destroy the kingdom, or she will never accept you. And you will Fade. Legolas isn’t ready or willing to be king yet.”  
             His hand touched the doorknob. “I . . . don’t know how to, Tauriel. Don’t worry; I’m not planning on dying anytime soon. It’s only a century. What’s that to us?”  
            “It’s a lifetime for my daughter. And it will be ten for the people of the Realm.” She sighed. “Just . . . don’t start drinking again. Dís hates that.”  
            “I know.” He left and Tauriel went to check on Dís.  
  
***


	14. Chapter 14

          Thranduil sat at his desk, elbows braced on the desk top, hands clasped to support his forehead as he tried to concentrate on the book he was reading instead of working. He reached down to turn the page, then flipped it back. He couldn’t recall anything he’s just seen on the previous page. In the two weeks since Dís had collapsed, he’d dropped six pounds he couldn’t afford to lose and his concentration was starting wander. It took too much effort to think, much less work. He closed the book and paced the room; slowly tracing his fingers lightly over the tops or exposed sides of objects he was passing.   
           After Callon’s tearful nap, Thranduil made a point to come and see her twice a day, every day. She was still searching for some outside force to blame for Dís’ refusal, and he’d given up trying to make her understand.   
          Thranduil finished a full circuit of the generous space, and turned back, retracing his steps. He wondered how long it would take Dís to notice that everyone was addressing her as if she were officially his wife. Everyone just assumed it was nerves that were holding back the announcement of the Royal Nuptials, but it wasn’t stopping the palace residents and citizens from having new robes and frocks ordered so they would be ready at a moment’s notice.   
           He returned to his original starting point. He looked at the ever growing stack of paperwork beside his desk, yanked open the door and strode into the Throne Room. The guards on duty bowed as he passed them. He was heading for the Family Quarters with no real purpose in mind. He was outside the Queen’s Apartment before he could stop his feet. He knocked and a moment later, Asny opened the door.  
           She curtsied. “Sire. The ladies have all gone out.”  
           “Out?” he frowned. “Out where?”  
           “The nursery, sire. I doubt her Majesty will venture further than that at the moment.”   
           He nodded. “Thank you, Asny.”   
           He headed down the hall to the nursery. Even Dís’ own staff had already accepted as fact what Dís was stalwartly ignoring. He arrived and opened the door slowly. Callon was sitting on the floor, absently pushing a ball across the floor. If it rolled just out of her reach, she left it where it was and plunged into the tub beside her for another one. Six balls were close around her, but she paid them little mind.   
          Tauriel was sitting with Dís on her favorite window seat. She looked tired. He started to shut the door and leave them in peace when Callon glanced up and saw him. She offered him a nod.  
          “My Lord,” she greeted him. Thranduil stepped into the room and shut the door. Dís looked up and groaned.  
          “Please go away,” she begged. “I’m not in the mood for you just now.”  
          “I’m here to see Callon.” She waved her hand absently and he bent to pick up the scattered balls. “What are you playing?”  
          “Look like I’m having fun,” she muttered. He nodded and tossed the balls in his hand back into the bucket.  
         “Yeah, that’s my favorite game right now, too.” Callon looked at her grandmother then at Thranduil.  
         “She just wouldn’t say no for no reason!” Callon huffed. “Did you try kissing her?”  
         Thranduil laughed softly. “Several times.”  
         “Oh. Did you try slaying a dragon?”  
         “I have done that, too,” he told her. “It wasn’t for Gram, though.”  
         Callon nodded. “What about killing kidnapping trolls or ogres?”  
         “I have fought trolls, orcs, and goblins over the centuries,” he told her.  
         “Well . . . dang.” Callon studied her feet. “And there are no spells to break, or the kissing would have worked. You’ve done _everything_ it says to do in the book! Is it because you’re already king?”  
           Thranduil laughed. “I was still a prince when I did everything but the kissing bit.”  
           “Well,” Callon threw up her hands and leapt to her feet. “Gram.” She marched over to Dís. “ _Please_ tell me why you won’t marry the king? He’s done everything it says in the book.”  
           Dís and Tauriel looked at each other in confusion, then at Thranduil. He was on all fours looking through the book shelf. Spotting what he was searching for, he held up the fairytale book. Dís squinted and silently cursed the short-sightedness of older dwarves. She needed specs and vanity alone was keeping her from buying them. Tauriel could see it just fine and she whispered to Dís, who nodded.  
            “You mean like the princesses in your storybook?” she asked the child. Callon nodded.  
           “When he was a prince, he killed a dragon; he’s fought trolls, orcs, _and_ goblins. He fought against the Enemy, and I think that counts as an evil wizard,” she was ticking off the list on her fingers.  
           “He rescued you after  _Ada_ and Uncle Fili died, and the two of you danced at a ball. And he’s kissed you. That’s _everything_ the handsome princes in the book do.”  
           Callon’s eyes widened with horror and she clapped her hand over mouth as she glanced down the room at Thranduil who had the book open on his lap and was flipping through it, looking at the pictures. His thick blond hair was falling in a curtain over one shoulder.  
          “ _You_ don’t think the king is handsome!” she said, _sotto voce_ , causing both women to laugh.  
          “Oh, Callon, I didn’t think it was possible to love you more than I already do.” Dís held out her arms, and Callon ran into her embrace. Thranduil had to squash the twinge of jealousy that slightly begrudged Callon her hug. She was a toddler and didn’t understand. Dís kissed Callon’s hair and gave her another tight hug.  
           “Dear Heart, _Nana_ and I told you the stories in your books are just that—stories. Real life doesn’t work that way, sadly.” She offered the child a smile. “I do think the king is _very_ handsome, and yes, he has done a lot of things that are similar to the princes in your book. But a lot of people would be unhappy if I married the king.”  
           “But I’m unhappy that you _won’t_!” Callon pulled herself free. “And you’re sad. _Nana_ is sad. The king is sad. And I’m _mad_!!” Callon stomped her foot and tears sprang to her eyes.   
           “Who cares what other people think? This is  _our_ family! We can do what we want! And I want my _Udad_ , and I want everything to be like it was before, when we were happy.”  
           She collapsed to the floor, weeping with impotent frustration. Thranduil closed the book and joined Tauriel and Dís as they circled the child in a hug.  
          “Callon, this is a grown-up problem. It will get sorted out soon enough,” Dís told her.   
          “But you won’t get married?”  
          “No, Dear Heart, probably not.”  
          “Oh.” Callon wrung her hands in her lap. “These people . . . that will be unhappy . . . can we maybe talk to them, and convince them it will work out okay?”  
          Thranduil patted Callon on the head. “Child, you are wise beyond your years.”  
          Dís was already shaking her head no. “I don’t think they would be convinced.”  
         “Even if I tell them that we’re all sad? And that it shouldn’t matter since it’s our family?”  
         “Princess, what they leave out of your book,” Thranduil said, standing and picking up the child. “Is that when you are a prince, princess, king, or queen— _everything_ you do affects everybody else.”  
         Callon’s lip slid out in a pout. “Then why be a king? Can you just quit?”  
          Dís slowly got up and returned to the window seat. She felt awful for killing Callon’s faith in romance and happy endings so early in her life. She sat down and closed her eyes.  
Thranduil took Callon and returned to the other side of the room. He put her down, and she marched over to her fairytale book and dropped it behind the bookcase, where she couldn’t see it any more, then plopped down on the floor and began crying again.  
         She was silent this time; huge fat tears ran down her face as she stared at the opposite wall. After a while, she pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around her head. Thranduil sat beside Callon and she soon began listing slightly, indicating that she had fallen asleep. He put his arms around her and picked her up gently.  
        “Tauriel, I’m taking her home.”  
         Tauriel nodded. “Thank you.” After the door shut behind them, Tauriel put a gentle hand on Dís’ arm.  
         “Tell me what happened, Dís. Please, from the beginning.”  
          Dís leaned back against the window. “Thranduil got jealous at the ball,” she said quietly. “After we got home, he dragged me into his apartment and asked me to marry him. I turned him down. The rest you know.”  
          Tauriel shook her head. “No, I don’t know. I don’t understand why. The day you fainted, I was with him when it happened, and I have never seen him move so fast to get anywhere.”  
          Dís snorted. “Well, then the guards are fast,” she muttered.  
          “He left our meeting before the guards got to us.” This piece of news made Dís’ eyebrow spring up. She shook her head.  
          “He said—” Dís hesitated. “Well, nothing, really. I suppose he thinks well of me or he wouldn’t have asked, but at his age, he should really learn to think about the consequences.”  
           Tauriel frowned. “Dís, I asked you once before if you would agree to marry Thranduil if you didn’t think it would harm everything he has built here and you gave me some rather rambling, evasive nonsense about politics.”  
            Dís half smiled. “I wasn’t rambling.”  
            “Yes, you were,” Tauriel disagreed. She stood up. “Come on. I think it’s time you went for a walk.”  
            “Tauriel, I’m really not in the mood to face the locals after what happened. That was so . . . lowering!”  
             Tauriel tugged her mother-in-law to her feet. “Well, I disagree. I have to be out there every day, and I see a lot of things you might miss.”  
             She dragged a reluctant Dís out of the nursery. Outside the Family Quarters, Tauriel pointed Dís down towards the market promenade. Dís was reluctant to go so far, but Tauriel had a firm hold on her arm, thwarting her attempts to escape. As they walked, Dís tried to ignore the elves she saw passing. After a while though, she noticed that a lot of them were pausing to bow or curtsey as they went by. Dís glanced at Tauriel.  
             “Why are they doing that?” she asked the elf. Tauriel tugged Dís along.  
            “Because,” she told her. “Ever since you arrived, we’ve all noticed a gradual and frankly wonderful, shift in the king’s personality. He’s friendly again.”  
              Dís slanted a disbelieving look at Tauriel. She laughed. “Well, for him anyway. And for him to insist on having that ball—totally out of the blue—well,” she sighed.  
              “And as much as I was teasing you about being in charge of all the preparations, a lot more people than you think were paying attention as well. They’ve seen you with Callon, they’ve seen the changes in the king, they know you can manage him, and his household without any issues. Honestly, most people were hoping he was going to propose to you at the ball, but that didn’t happen.”  
             Dís flushed. “No. And considering that I refused him, it’s better that it did not.”  
             They arrived on the shop promenade, and Dís glanced over the now long familiar shops and store fronts.  
             “Why did we have to come all the way here?”  
             “Come on,” Tauriel led her towards one of the dress shops. People quickly began noticing them, and moved aside to let them pass. Even Dís’ ears caught their vague murmuring as they moved through the crowd.  
              “Look! She’s awake!”  
              “Maybe she wasn’t as ill as we thought . . .”  
              “It’s been six weeks . . .”  
              “Planning a wedding takes time . . .”  
               Dís frowned and looked up at Tauriel. “Planning a wedding?” she mouthed.   
              Tauriel urged her into a dress shop. The sign over the door was of a waif-like elf in flowing robes with stars circling her dark hair. Inside, a tall elf with pale, nearly white hair was sitting at a table, sewing. She had a measuring tape draped around her neck, and was holding a handful of pins between her lips. As the two women entered, she glanced up. Seeing who they were, she emptied the pins into her hand and dropped them on the table. She rose and greeted the pair with a bow.  
             “It is good to see you up and about again, your Majesty.” She nodded to Tauriel. “Captain.”  
              Dís looked at Tauriel, waiting for something like an explanation. Tauriel smiled at the woman.  
              “Gilrin, how’s business been?”  
              The woman sighed. “Overwhelming.” She glanced over her shoulder at the project on the table. “I haven’t had this many orders in _decades_.”  
              Her brow wrinkled slightly. “Are you here to place an order? I can have one of my girls measure you—”  
              Tauriel shook her head. “No, Gilrin, we are just out for a ramble. I noticed that you were open, so we popped in to say hello.” She turned to Dís. “Dís, this is my friend Gilrin. She and I met quite by accident a few decades ago, and she’s been a good acquaintance since.”  
             Dís nodded and glanced around the shop. Dozens of dress forms displayed a myriad of styles and colours of fabric, and dresses in various stages of incompleteness. Gilrin followed her gaze.  
             “Yes,” she sighed again. “Since there’s not been an official announcement yet, I really have no idea _what_ kind of timeline I have to work with. I’ve started turning customers away.”  
             “Official announcement?” Dís asked. The blond elf nodded.  
             “It will be the wedding of the century, no doubt about that,” she assured Dís. “Everyone is looking forward to it. Our ill-tempered, irascible king has finally fallen in love. We were all wondering how much longer he was going to wait to finally remarry. I mean, we all loved the Queen—she was sweetness itself, but a kingdom suffers without balance.”   
              Gilrin glanced at her stool, and Dís gestured for her to sit. She sat back down. “It will only be a temporary reprieve, since—forgive me for saying so, your Majesty — but you are, sadly mortal. But, it will be a welcome one neither the less. Maybe the two of you will have a child. That will keep him occupied, and with Princess Callon and the captain nearby, perhaps they can keep him from withdrawing so much and becoming a hermit again.”  
                Dís snickered and a look of horror flashed over Gilrin’s face. “I’m sorry!” she blurted. “I know I talk too much! I’m so, so sorry!”  
              Tauriel laughed and Dís waved away her apology. “I do have one question for you, Gilrin.”  
              She nodded. “Yes?”  
              “What makes you so sure the king wants to marry me? And I’d like an honest answer, please. I won’t get upset with you.”  
              Gilrin considered for a moment then shrugged. “Well, it’s been over 500 years since the Queen passed away. King Thranduil has successfully managed to avoid every attempt that has been made in the last two centuries to cajole or maneuver him into remarrying.  
             We all gave up, finally. We knew the king and queen weren’t Soul Mates, so there was no earthy reason for him not to take another wife, but instead, all he did was drink. And then here _you_ come along. Despite all the rumors, you seemed to have no other motivation or agendas besides looking after the little Princess. After a while, people kind of forgot about you, to be honest.”  
             Dís nodded. “I did notice, but that doesn’t answer my question.”  
             “Yes, well . . . it wasn’t so much anything you _did_ per say, but . . . well; we started to notice that _he_ was starting to change. Plus, you didn’t seem to be above yelling at him in public places,” she added cheerfully.  
             Dís blushed. She and Thranduil had had several rather heated arguments over the years, usually in the Throne Room. She always forgot that elves weren’t crazy about adding walls and doors to public rooms, that there were guards nearby, and that they could be seen or heard by everyone passing through that way.  
             Tauriel laughed. “Yes, that’s true.”  
             Gilrin grinned. “The first time it happened, everyone thought he was going to expel you, but _nothing_ happened. After that, the whispers started. You must be something special for the king to not do _anything_ to you. And the two of you kept fighting in public, and then it kinda became an event.”  
              Dís groaned. “Durin’s Beard! How _mortifying_!”  
              Tauriel shook her head, grinning. “And I seem to recall more than a few dinners where you made yourself the hostess with being asked.”  
             “I—what? I never did that,” Dís protested.  
             “Yes, you did; whenever he hosted outside delegates. You would do it without thinking about it.”  
             Gilrin agreed. “And now every time someone goes out, to Esgaroth or Dale or Erebor, you get asked about. Everybody thinks you’re amazing. And then the ball.” Gilrin sighed dreamily.   
             “Your Asny is a wizard with a needle, by the way. That red and black dress you wore was wonderful!”  
            Dís winced. Asny had not been pleased about the tear stains on the silk fabric and looked like _she_ might cry when Dís told her to dispose of the dress. She wasn’t sure if Asny had done as she asked, but she had not seen it again.  
            “Thank you,” Dís muttered. Gilrin didn’t notice and rushed on.  
            “Oh, the ball. It was the first one in ages! And we were all hoping that _finally_ , after keeping us in suspense for the last _three years_ , that the king was going to announce the engagement. But nothing happened! No clues, no insinuations, _nothing_! It was so disheartening.”  
             She fell silent for a moment, then hopped to her feet. “But, then we started thinking about it, and we figured _maybe_ he wanted to wait for New Years. Timing is everything with these sorts of arrangements.” She gestured widely around the shop.   
             “So here I am, sewing my fingers off so that the ladies of the Woodland Realm will be presentable when the time comes.”  
             Dís shifted uncomfortable. “Who’s . . .‘we’?” she asked. Gilrin had returned to her work table and was poking the loose pins into the overcrowded pin cushion on her wrist.  
           “What? Well . . . everybody. The whole city is talking about it.”  
           “The _whole_ city?” Dís repeated. Gilrin nodded.  
           “Absolutely. By the way,” Gilrin turned to face Dís, looking a bit abashed. “May I ask; what colour are you considering for your dress? We’re all dying to know! Plus, if I knew, I could pull it off the shelf until after the wedding so that no-one would try to upstage the bride.”  
           Dís’ eyebrow rose. “Elves do that too? Huh. I thought that was just something silly we mortals indulged in.”  
          Tauriel shook her head. “Gilrin, as soon as I know something, I’ll have word sent to you. Dís, we’d better get back. I have a feeling Callon will be waking up soon.”  
          Dís nodded and Gilrin followed them to the door, bowing. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak my mind,” she told Dís. Dís nodded.  
          “And thank you for being honest.”  
           The two ladies left the shop promenade without speaking. As they neared their apartment, Dís put a hand on Tauriel’s arm.  
          “I understand what you were trying to do, Tauriel, but I will not be manipulated into changing my mind.”  
           Tauriel’s eyebrows flew up. “Dís, I wasn’t trying to manipulate you. I just know that Gilrin likes to talk. She’s a good elf, and I’ve never known her to be dishonest. I’ve seen her send more than one customer away in tears because she wouldn’t let them buy something that didn’t suit them. She can be brutally honest when she needs to be.”  
           “So why drag me all the way to that girl’s shop if this was just a friendly visit?” Dís demanded.  
          Tauriel sighed. “You needed to see that you are worrying over imaginary shadows. I wanted you to have all your facts, before you completely dismiss him.”  
          Dís snorted. “And where is our next field trip to be? Erebor? Lothlórien?”  
          Tauriel shook her head, unaffected by Dís’ harsh tone. “No. Those places aren’t pertinent to this.”  
         “Are they not? You expect me to believe that the elves in every kingdom on this earth will support Thranduil marrying a mortal and a dwarf besides? If I were a Man, I doubt they would care, but a _dwarf_?”  
         “Actually, yes.”   
          Dís growled in irritation as Thranduil joined them in the hall. He had been in their apartment with Callon, and heard them talking.  
          “Lord Elrond pretty much likes everybody, Lady Galadriel is the kindest soul to ever grace this earth, and Círdan cares for little outside of his ships.” He moved closer to the two women. “And I want to marry you, so that covers all of the elves. Dáin has already demanded multiple times that we marry, so I doubt he will have anything negative to say.”  
           He turned to Tauriel. “Where did you run off to?”  
           “We went for a walk,” Tauriel said vaguely. “Is Callon still asleep?”  
          Thranduil shook his head. “She just woke up, but she is refusing to come out of her room.”  
          Tauriel nodded. “I’m going in, then. Dís, I think dinner will be ready soon.” She disappeared into their apartment, leaving Thranduil alone with Dís.   
          She crossed her hands in front of her and fixed him with a politely blank expression. Thranduil sighed and moved to pass her.  
          “You are really not going to change your mind about us?” he asked. Dís looked away.  
         “Tauriel took me into the city. She wanted me to hear the general consensus, as told by a chatty dressmaker. It seems that for the last two hundred years, your people have been waiting for you to remarry.”  
          “I know.”  
          “The thing is, Thranduil, I have had no indication from you that you are interested in me beyond basic . . . desire. And while I supposed that _could_ be flattering, considering my age, that is _not_ the foundation on which a marriage is built. So yes, I will continue saying no to you.” She bowed shortly and marched into the apartment, shutting the door firmly behind her.  
           Thranduil watched her thoughtfully. Durin’s Day was a few weeks away, and the elves New Year was six weeks afterwards. He had almost two months to convince Dís that he was serious.  
            _‘Three years,’_ he thought, going back to his apartment. _‘And it all comes down to the next two months.’_  
  
***  
  
             Dís stayed in her room when Thranduil came over later to read to Callon. The child was already in bed, with the blanket tucked tightly around her head. He sat down in the chair beside her bed.  
           “Callon, do you have anything you would like me to read tonight?”  
          She shook her head. “What’s the point, it’s all made up foolishness.” Thranduil was excessively sorry for the bitterness in her voice.  
           “It is true that most stories are made up,” he agreed. “But there is often a slight thread of truth in them. If there wasn’t, no-one would read them and they would not persist for centuries.”  
           Callon snorted. “I don’t care,” she muttered, and pulled the blanket over her head. The king sighed, and settled more comfortably in the chair.  
           “Should you like to hear about Legolas when he was child? You know your nursery used to be his. And that little bow was his favorite toy, too.”  
           Callon shook her head. “Go away.”  
           He nodded and leaned over to turn down the lamp. “Then we won’t read tonight, but I will sit with you until you fall asleep.”  
            “I want to be by myself.”  
            “Callon, I understand that you are hurt by the fact that Gram and I aren’t getting married. But in time, I believe that she and I may be friends again.”  
            Callon didn’t respond. Thranduil watched the tiny child and after a few minutes, she pushed the blanket away from her face. She was crying again.  
            “Is there really _nothing_ you can do to change her mind?” she whispered. Thranduil shrugged.  
            “I honestly don’t know.”  
            “Is it because Gram’s a dwarf and we’re elves?”  
            “You’re a dwarf too, you know,” he gently reminded her. Callon nodded and swiped her hand over her cheeks.  
           “Do you love Gram?”  
           Thranduil considered this for a moment. “Yes, I think I do,” he said finally. Callon sat up.  
           “Maybe Gram doesn’t know that,” she said, becoming slightly more animated. “Maybe she won’t say yes because she thinks you don’t like her.”  
           “I did tell her—” he started, then checked his words. Had he told her that? A slight frown crossed his face. Callon reached over and put her tiny hand over his.  
           “Did you tell her?” she pressed.  
           “I . . . don’t know.”   
           Callon nodded sagely and Thranduil had to suppress a smile. “Then, Gram doesn’t know. I wouldn’t marry a boy that didn’t say ‘I love you’ either.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “So you have to tell her, and then she’ll say yes.”  
           “It’s not that simple, Princess.”  
           “Oh, yes it is.” Callon threw back the blankets and slid out of the bed.  
           “Callon, what are you doing?” Thranduil stood up as Callon opened her door and trotted down the hall. “Girl, get back here! It’s bedtime!” He followed her down to Dís’ door. She was knocking.  
           “Gram?”   
           Thranduil caught up to her and picked her up. Callon squealed in outrage and began fighting against his grip, but Thranduil held her firmly. Even with the loss of a few pounds, he was still quite strong. At the sound of Callon’s squeal, Tauriel rushed out of her room and Dís’ flung her door open. Both women stared at the blond elf as he tried to pull a still flailing Callon back to her room.  
           “It’s too late for this, Callon. Get back in the bed.”  
           “No! Not until you tell Gram! Gram, the king says—” Thranduil slapped his hand over her mouth.  
           “Hush!”  
           She bit his palm and his grip loosened, freeing her. Callon ran back to Dís’ door. Tauriel frowned.  
            “What the hell are you doing to my daughter?” she demanded. Thranduil threw up his hands.  
            “Absolutely nothing.”  
            “That didn’t  _look_ like nothing.”  
            “Gram! The king says he loves you! He’s just never  _told_ you!”  
            Thranduil dropped his head into his hand, groaning softly and Tauriel turned to stare at her daughter. Dís was still frowning.  
           “Callon,” she said finally. “We told you this is a grown-up problem and we will get it sorted.”  
           “I know, but this is  _important_!” she insisted. “He _loves_ you!”  
           Tauriel picked up her daughter. “The king is right; it’s time for you to be in bed. Come on.”  
           “NO! Gram has to understand!” Callon leaned sideways over Tauriel’s arm so she still see Dís. “Gram, you believe me, don’t you?”  
           “Callon, we can talk about this later,” Dís tried to skirt a firm reply. Callon redoubled her efforts to escape her mother’s arms.  
          “Please, my Lord! You have to  _tell_ her!”  
          Tauriel disappeared in the night nursery and Thranduil moved to follow her.  
         “I didn’t put her up to this,” he assured Dís.  
         “I didn’t imagine that you did,” she told him coldly. “But I would greatly appreciate you _not_ talking about this with her anymore.” The door slammed shut.  
  
***


	15. Chapter 15

           In the days following Callon’s outburst, Thranduil was at a loss as to how to proceed. He couldn’t just tell Dís that he loved her now without making it seem as if he were trying to placate the child. Never in his life had he been so frustrated over something that, in the grand scheme of things—was really relatively minor. This was no dragon, or kings-turned-to-undead vengeful monsters. This was a man and a woman who were not communicating. But he couldn’t get her to speak to him alone. Each time he tried, she brought Callon or Tauriel with her, though Tauriel would try to escape.  
           Thranduil desperately wanted to throw something. Drinking was his only other consolation, but there was nothing in the apartment, and if he sent someone to the wine cellar, the news would be all over the city within the hour. He sighed and put down the book he’d been holding on his lap for over an hour without opening.   
            He paced the confines of the apartment, but all it did was raise his level of irritation. Finally, he marched across the hall and knocked rather hard on the door. Tauriel opened it, looking anxious and confused.  
           “My Lord, what’s happened?”  
           “Nothing,” he said tersely. “Are you busy right now?”  
           “I’m having dinner with Callon.”  
           “Oh. Well when you’re done, meet me on the training ground. I feel like sparing.”  
           Tauriel snorted. “You’re kidding, right? I am not going to let you use me as a punching bag tonight.”  
           “Tauriel, don’t make me order you.”  
           “Order away.” She shut the door in his face. Thranduil stared at it in shock for a moment, then knocked again. Callon opened it this time.  
           “It’s a little early for me to be in the bed,” she told him, clearly confused as to why he was there.   
            Thranduil nodded. “I am aware of that, Princess Callon. I need to speak to your mother.”  
            “She’s talking to Gram,” Callon said. “You want to wait in the sitting room?”  
            “No,” said Tauriel coming up behind the child. “He can wait on the training ground. Dís said she’ll be happy to spar with you.”  
His eyebrow rose. “I don’t want to fight with her.”  
            “Maybe not, but I don’t feel like getting beat up by you. Callon, we need to finish our dinner.” Tauriel shut the door again, and Thranduil sighed.  
            Well, it was one way to spend more time with Dís, but not quite the way he had in mind.  
  
***  
  
          Twenty minutes later, Thranduil stepped outside onto the soldiers’ training field. The torches circling the space were lit and casting odd, wavering shadows over the ground. Dís was already there. She was dressed in dark trousers and a thigh length tunic was belted around her waist. Her hair was braided and clipped back. He stopped just outside the circle of light to watch her as she twirled through a series of forms, the double headed axe in her hands swinging precariously close to her body. She finally stopped and stood absolutely still, her back to him. He stepped into the light.  
          “I was wondering how long you intended to lurk, Elf-king,” she told him without turning to face him.  
          “You could not have heard me,” he told her. She nodded and turned around. Thranduil was wearing dark pants as well, and a short tunic. He had pulled his hair back into a neat queue to keep it out of his eyes.  
           “No indeed. But I saw you.” She gestured at his sword. “Do you really wish to lose that pretty blade of yours?”  
           He smirked. “I doubt I will lose it, Princess. That axe of yours on the other hand, looks to be _quite_ unwieldy. I saw you going through your forms, but that handle is far to long for your height.”  
           Dís offered him a placid smile. “Shall we begin?”  
           In less than five minutes, Thranduil was silently cursing. His father had always told him that his arrogance would get him in trouble in a fight. He had underestimated just how good Dís was with her weapon. The handle was a little bit too long for her, but she had the weapon firmly under her control. She easily sidestepped a downward swing and flipped the axe over to crack Thranduil at knee level with the flat of her blade.  
             “Legs gone,” she said, with a smirk. He grunted and lunged again. Dís had a slight advantage over him because she was shorter by at least 18 inches. That meant he had to reach down to attack, which slowed him down, but her slightly longer weapon increased her reach.  
            She sidestepped again and the axe whirled over her head, catching his next blow and sending his sword sailing into the dark. She kicked out, hooking her instep around his ankle and yanking him off his feet. Her blade swung down and stopped on his neck.  
            “Heads gone,” she chirped. “I win.” Dís stepped back. “Shall you be more serious in our next bout?”  
             He sat up. “My apologies, Princess. I had rather forgotten that all dwarves are quite well trained.”  
             Dís shrugged. “Honestly, Thorin would be quite disappointed in me. I haven’t been practicing like I should be.”  
            Thranduil got to his feet and stepped out of the light. While he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark he asked:  
            “What do you mean?”  
            “I haven’t done this in almost a year.”  
             Thranduil grunted. _‘Well, that’s embarrassing,’_ he thought. He finally caught a glint of silver in the darkness and went to retrieve his sword. When he returned, Dís was examining her blade.  
            “I can’t accept being defeated by you,” he told her. “Especially if you haven’t even picked up a weapon in a year!”  
            Dís smirked. “I’m just that good, Elf-king.”  
            Their next round was a bit slower as Thranduil began looking for the weaknesses in her defenses. Everything he noticed, he attempted to exploit, but Dís seemed to know where he was about to move, and closed the holes before he could get close. His irritation began to grow, but he pushed it aside.  
           Dís blocked another lunge, using the flat of the axe to turn his blade aside. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re going to let an old, slow dwarrowdam beat you again, Elf-king? Where is your pride, oh Thranduil, Slayer of Dragons?”  
            He lunged again, catching her slightly off guard. “Do not think I cannot defeat you, Princess. And pride has no place here.”  
           “Indeed,” she agreed, jabbing the pointed spike crowing her weapon towards his throat. “Particularly since I sent it out into the darkness along with your ceremonial dagger.”  
           “Dagger!? My father gave me this sword.” Thrust, block.  
            Dís snorted. “Then you dishonor his memory by waving it about like a signal flag.”  
            He laughed, not taking her jibe to heart. Dwarves, he decided a few minutes later, were a lot faster than their short legs would suggest. Dís was spinning around him like a top and it was becoming more difficult to predict where she would move next. She danced out of his range again and Thranduil decided he’d had enough.   
           He feigned left, but to his surprise, Dís attacked head-on, catching him before he could fully turn into his right, downward stroke. His blade caught her upper arm and the spike on her axe grazed his side, tearing open his tunic and the flesh beneath. She grunted in surprise, and glanced down at the red flower blooming on her sleeve. The sword dropped from his hands.  
           “Dís! Are you alright? I’m sorry, I wasn’t—”  
            She kicked him hard in shin as he reached for her, and he toppled to the ground, dragging her with him. They lay sprawled for a moment, shocked. Dís pushed herself up, grimacing at the pain in her arm. She glared down at Thranduil for a second, then smacked him in the chest.  
           “That wasn’t fair,” she said. She tried to stand up, but he wrapped his arms around her, and flipped them over, so he was lying over her.  
           “This isn’t about fairness, my little love. It never was. I am so furious with you right I can’t think.” He looked at her arm again, then back to her flushed face. Dís decided she wasn’t entirely safe with him looming over her like that and began trying to wriggle free.  
            Thranduil knew letting her escape might just be the best course for both of them, but he rarely did his best thinking when he was irritated with Dís. Besides, her squirming against him was heating his blood. He leaned down and kissed her, fully expecting her to slap him. Her arms flew up around his neck, pulling him closer. He could feel her fingers fumbling with the string holding his hair back, but she was able to pull it free without jerking his hair out. The small mew she let out as his hair brushed over her skin set his heart pounding. He pulled back from her lips, dropped his head to trail kisses along her neck.  
            “Why do you continue to torment me, woman? Just say yes, for both our sakes.”   
             Thranduil’s long fingers grazed over her breast, and Dís couldn’t silence the whimper of pleasure that emerged. She felt like she was floating. She ran her hands through his hair, hating herself for allowing this and unsure how to stop him. She wasn’t sure she wanted him too.  
             “You are so perfect,” his voice was heave with desire. “Please. Dís, I love you, and you are becoming a torment. Stop pushing me away.”  
             She tugged gently on his hair and he returned his attentions to her lips. He pulled away from her when he realized she was crying.  
            “Dís?”  
           “I . . . can’t. We can’t. No-one—”  
           “Do you honestly think _I_ care what anyone else thinks of us?” he demanded harshly, withdrawing from her. He sat back, pushing his hair out of his face. Dís didn’t move.  
           “You have to,” she whispered. “You could lose everything. And I couldn’t bear to be the one responsible—”  
           “The only thing that will be lost here, madam, is the chance that we could be happy.” He swung his legs around and stood up.     “I’m not even sure what I’m fighting _against_. You do not seem to dislike my attentions, so what is the problem, Princess?”  
            “I—” Dís sat up slowly. “I . . . cannot . . . be the one—”  
            “Stop saying that you will destroy this kingdom! The very idea is utterly ludicrous, with no basis in fact.”  
            “I will diminish you,” she said softly. “And such a weakness is easy to exploit.”  
             “By whom?” Thranduil demanded, raking his hair back from his face again. “I have no enemies here.” When she didn’t answer, he bent and picked up his sword. “You never have an answer for my questions. That can only mean they are excuses. What do you really fear? That you _do_ love me and that I will break your heart? That I will walk away from you on some far future day because another woman caught my eye? That we _might actually_ be happy and contented with each other? That something will happen to me, dropping the pain of death and loss upon you again? Tell me the truth, Dís! What are you _actually_ afraid of?!”  
              She didn’t answer and he sighed deeply and sat back down.   
             “Dís, Elves _can’t_ have affairs. Our unions with our spouses are spiritual as well as physical. And nothing is going to happen to me. I was told quite a long time ago that I was destined to see the Undying Lands. I will Sail and so will my children. I dismissed it at the time because I only had Legolas, and neither my wife nor I desired each other enough to try for another.”  
              Dís scrubbed her sleeve over her face. “So what?”  
              “The person that told me that hasn’t been wrong yet. After my wife died, I was sure that they were _finally_ going to be wrong, but then you floated into my life. And I would dearly love to have a child with you. They won’t be as cute as Callon, but they would be ours, and I would be able to keep you with me in a small way.”  
               Dís sniffed. “Why should I believe you? You’re just mad because I won’t let you have your way. You would say anything.”  
               Thranduil stood up again. “Yes, I suppose I could. I guess that means you would have to trust me.” He turned and went back inside, leaving Dís sitting alone in the dark.  
  
***


	16. Chapter 16

            Callon woke up to Tauriel, and not her grandmother tapping her on the shoulder. “Good morning, sweetie. Gram is feeling a bit under the weather today, so Asny will be looking after you. Nana has to go to work.”  
            Callon sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Is the king going to have breakfast with us today?”  
           “He might. Wash up and get dressed.”   
            She went and Callon stared at her feet for a long time. Gram was ‘under the weather’. That meant she was crying again, and didn’t want the rest of them to see her with a blotchy face. She got up and soon joined her mother at the table. Thranduil was there, drinking coffee and talking to her mother about work. He glanced at Callon as she came in.  
            “Good morning, Princess Callon.”   
             She nodded and climbed into her seat. “What did you say to make Gram cry _this_ time?” she asked, trying not to sound bitter. Tauriel’s eyes widened and Thranduil laughed.  
             “I didn’t. Not this time. I understand Asny is to be with you this morning. Would you rather spend the day with me?”  
             Callon tried to squash the excited flutter in her stomach.     “But you can’t take breaks,” she told him. “Kings don’t get breaks.”  
             “No, you’re right, Good Kings don’t. I’m going to be a Bad King for the day. I was thinking about going for a ride.”  
              Callon couldn’t help herself. She leaped out of her chair and threw her arms around Thranduil’s neck. “I would love to!”  
              He glanced at Tauriel and she nodded. “Good, then that’s settled. Eat your breakfast and then we will go.”  
              She hopped back to her seat and ate quickly. When she was done, she raced back to her room to put on trousers, then joined Thranduil in the sitting room.  
              “Ready!” She announced. He unfolded his long legs from where he was sitting on the couch and took her hand.  
              “Asny, we may be a bit late for lunch.” The maid nodded and followed them to the door. When they had gone, she went to drag Dís out of bed.  
               She was surprised, therefore to see that Dís was not only awake, but up and fully dressed. She was sitting on the side of the bed, staring at the floor. She glanced up as the door opened.  
              “Where’s Callon?”  
              “She’s spending the day with the king.”   
               Dís nodded. “I’m sure she will have a good time.” She rose and crossed to her desk. “Asny, do you like living here?”  
              “Ma’am?” the maid began stripping the blankets off the bed.  
              “I mean, do you like it here?”  
              “If you mean living in the Woods, it was an adjustment, but it’s not so bad now that we’ve gotten used to it. If you mean in this apartment, it’s quite comfortable.”  
               Dís shook her head. “You’ve been with me for a long time, haven’t you?”  
               “Over 60 years,” Asny agreed. “The young Masters were still quite small when I came.”  
              “Yes, they were,” Dís agreed with a fond smile. “Can you be honest with me, Asny?”  
               Asny sighed. “Ma’am, I think you should marry the king. He’s not handsome the way a proper dwarrow would be, but you and your sons were never very proper. He seems to like you a lot, and the folks in the city speak very highly of you and of the little Princess.   
              They like that fact that you aren’t afraid to stand up to him. I honestly don’t think you being Dwarrow factors in at all.”  
             “Truly?”  
             “Truly,” Asny tossed the old blankets on the floor and pulled clean ones out of the closet. “His pompous little prick of a son might not like it, but that hardly signifies; no-one likes their step-parents. Besides, he’s a grow elf, near as I can tell.”  
            Dís laughed. “Asny, don’t call him that.” She sighed and pushed a pen back and forth on the desk. “What about at home? They might not like it so much.”  
            Asny scooped up the dirty blankets. “Ma’am, you’ll excuse my saying so, but we’re _at_ home.”  
           She went out, and Dís sat on the bed and stared out the window.  
  
***  
  
           Callon skipped beside Thranduil as they made their way back into the city. She had been allowed to ride her grandmother’s pony and Thranduil had shown her how to saddle and curry comb it. She was feeling quite accomplished. The crisp fall air had put come colour in her cheeks and she was in quite high spirits when they finally returned indoors.  
           “Thank you for taking me outside,” she told him. “I had fun.” Thranduil gave her a smile.  
           “I remember that Legolas enjoyed doing that a lot too when he was about your size.”  
           Callon giggled. “Legolas wasn’t as little as me! He’s tall.”  
           “Now he is,” Thranduil paused to scoop Callon up and toss her into the air. She shrieked in surprised delight as he caught her, so he did it again. “But I used to be able to do that to him.”  
Callon laughed and hugged him around his neck. “Will you take me out again one day soon?”  
           “Yes, I will.” They neared the apartment. He knocked and Asny opened the door. She smiled at how windblown Callon was.  
           “Goodness. It looks like you had a busy morning.”  
           “Oh, yeah,” Callon gushed as Thranduil put her down. “I got to brush the pony so his fur was nice and shiny, and then—”   
           Asny led her away to clean up for lunch and Thranduil lingered in the foyer, trying to decide if Callon would be upset if he left without eating with her. He finally decided she would be, so he shut the door and went to wait in the sitting room.  
           Dís was sitting in the chair by the fireplace with a book unopened on her lap. He paused when he saw her and she nodded without speaking.  
           “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said. Dís shrugged.  
           “I’m sore from working out.”  
           “Ah.” He sat down in the chair opposite her. “Will you join Callon and me for lunch?”  
           “I should,” she sighed, tossing the book onto the table beside her. “But I don’t want her to get any ideas.”  
          “The only idea she will have is that you are feeling better,” he told her, keeping his tone neutral. Callon bounded into the room and let out a happy squeak to see that Thranduil was still there.  
          “I was hoping you were still here,” she said, throwing herself across his lap. “I forgot to ask you to have lunch with me.” She turned and saw Dís. “Gram! You’re up! Will you be eating with me, too?”  
          Dís smiled. “Of course, Dear Heart.”  
          Callon cheered and went to stand by the arm of Dís’ chair. “The king took me to the stables this morning,” she said cheerfully. “I rode your pony.”  
          “Did you now? Was it fun?”  
          “Lots and lots!” she exclaimed. “I want to ride _every day_.”  
          Thranduil shook his head and got to his feet as Asny poked her head into the room to let them know the food was served.  
          “You might not be saying that tomorrow,” he told her.  
          “Oh yes I will!” Callon argued, taking Dís’ hand. When they came even with Thranduil, she took his hand and walked in the dining room between them. After they sat, Dís agreed with the king.  
          “You might be quite sore tomorrow. But it will pass in a few days.”  
         “I don’t care,” the child declared around a mouthful of food.  
         “Don’t talk with food in your mouth!” Thranduil and Dís admonished in unison. Callon laughed and tried to swallow.  
         “Grace, poise, and dignity,” Dís reminded her. Callon snorted and Thranduil shook his head.  
         “I’ll settle for basic table manners.”  
         Callon continued eating, totally unconcerned that a mouthful of food should keep her from expressing herself. By the time lunch was over though, Dís could tell Callon was fighting to stay awake. She bore the child away for her nap and Thranduil returned to his office.  
  
***


	17. Chapter 17

           Durin’s Day arrived and Callon was looking forward to being an official guest at the feast for the first time. After dinner, Dís made her annual sojourn to her sons’ tombs with Tauriel, and Callon went with them — another first. When they arrived, Dís was overwhelmed to discover that Dáin had ordered the tomb covers carved with the likenesses of her sons and brother. Tauriel picked up Callon so that she could see her father for the first time, while Dís sat on the floor and cried.  
           Callon traced over Kili’s nose and mouth with a curious finger, touching her own as she did so. She turned and smiled at her mother.  
          “ _Ada_ has the same nose as me,” she whispered. Tauriel nodded, blinking back her own tears.  
          “Yes, dearest. He does.” Callon was very happy about this.        Tauriel let her sit on the edge of the stone so she could look to her hearts content. After that rather emotional scene, Dís retreated to her room to rest, and Callon wandered around the city with her mother.  
          Thranduil joined them on one of the lower levels. Callon offered him a polite bow.  
         “I got to see _Ada,_ ” she announced. “He is very handsome.”  
         Thranduil nodded. “Yes, Dáin mentioned he had a surprise for Dís. I understand usually only Men carve such effigies, but he said didn’t want the youth of the fallen princes to be forgotten.”  
Tauriel nodded. “Well, whatever his motives, it’s a beautiful piece of work, and has afforded my daughter an opportunity I never imagined she’d have.”  
         He looked down at Callon. “Are you enjoying Durin’s Day so far, Princess Callon?”  
         She nodded. “Gram had to lie down, so _Nana_ and I are exploring.”  
        “Please, allow me to explore with you.”   
        Callon agreed, taking his hand. They soon neared the market, but it was closed for the holiday, so they retraced theirs steps, Callon still in fairly high spirits.  
        “ _Nana_ , can we come and live here some day? I like how pretty the walls are.”  
        Tauriel laughed. “Well, I know Gram has a house here somewhere, so you may get a chance to stay for a while.”  
        “If she decided to take up masonry for her Craft, there may be a riot in the Woods,” Thranduil muttered and Tauriel laughed again.  
        “That’s not likely,” Tauriel assured him. “The Line of Durin are smiths.”  
         They neared the treasury, but Callon wasn’t old enough to be impressed by a gold hoard, so the trio returned to their rooms. Dís had risen from her nap by the time the three of them arrived. She was sitting by the fireplace, holding an unopened book on her lap. Her gaze was distracted and far away.  
         Callon joined her, leaning on the arm of the chair. “Gram? We went for a walk. Can we come and live here one day?”  
         Dís looked down at her. “We who, Dear Heart?”  
         Callon shrugged. “Everybody. You, me, _Nana_ , Legolas, the king. Everybody.”  
         Dís glanced at the elves standing in the doorway and tried to imagine them living Under the Mountain. Legolas would complain bitterly about everything. Thranduil would be more circumspect, but no less annoyed, and Tauriel would treat it like an adventure for Callon’s sake. She laughed.  
         “You and I might come for a long visit,” she said. “But . . . grown-up elves get sick if they don’t get sunshine.”  
Callon glanced over her shoulder. “Really?”  
        “It takes a long time for that to happen,” Tauriel assured her. “I would be fine for a visit.”  
        Callon nodded and the worried look that had been creeping onto her face disappeared. She turned back to Dís and planted a kiss on her cheek.  
        “I love you, Gram.” She ran off to her room, and the adults joined Dís. Thranduil took up a book, so he could watch Dís without being too obvious about it and the ladies talked quietly about their visit to the Burial Hall.  
  
***  
  
           Before they left to return to Mirkwood, where the preparations for New Years were already underway, Dáin asked Dís to meet with him in private. When she arrived in his sitting room, he was grinning like a child about to pull a prank. Dís frowned.  
          “What are you up to, Dáin?” she asked, cautiously taking a seat. Dáin tried to look offended, but couldn’t stop grinning.  
          “I heard the guards your king brought speculation on when during New Year’s Thranduil is going to announce your engagement.”  
          Dís groaned. “Dáin, there are no plans for  _any_ such announcement.” Dáin waved away her protest.  
         “I thought you might say that,” he told her. “And I think I understand why you haven’t accepted him yet.”  
          Her eyebrow rose. “Do you, now?” she asked dryly.  
          “Yes! When he asked you, he offered you some silly elf token didn’t he?   
          “He didn’t—”  
          “And then it dawned on me when I noticed the Promise Beads in Tauriel’s hair. We’re so used to seeing them, we really don’t anymore. But on an elf, they stand out.”  
He placed a small, carved box on the table in front of Dís. She sighed and reluctantly opened it. Inside were a dozen carved or gem studded Promise Beards. They were square or rectangular, indicating they were for a male. Dís closed to box with a snap and placed it back on the table with deliberation.  
         “Dáin, Thranduil wouldn’t wear these. Not ever, under _any_ circumstances.”  
         “If he loves you he will,” Dáin said with equal calmness.  
         “And I’m telling you, that after living with the man for the last four years, that he doesn’t and he won’t.”  
        “Dís, just ask him,” Dáin said as Dís rose. She shook her head.  
        “I don’t need to,” she said shortly, leaving without the box. Dáin picked it up and frowned. He called for a servant, and told them to bring Asny to him before the Mirkwood party departed.  
  
*** 


	18. Chapter 18

            Callon ran around the ball room carrying a stuffed animal as Dís directed the hanging of the decorations for New Years. It had been three weeks since they had returned from Erebor. Thranduil was more quite after they returned and Callon wondered what was bothering him. She spun herself dizzy and collapsed onto the floor, giggling. The servants moved around her as if she were not there.  
           “Dear Heart, you’re getting in the way,” Dís called. “No, no,” she turned to the woman standing beside her with a pile of fabric. “We used those last year. I only want to see like-on-like embroidery. The colours should speak for themselves. Subtle.”  
           The elf bowed and hurried off. Callon stood up.  
           “Gram, I’m hungry.”  
            Dís nodded. “Okay.”   
            She looked over the room, and decided she could leave it for a while. She took Callon back to their apartment for lunch. To her surprise, the king was lounging in their sitting room, doing paperwork.  
            “Don’t you have an office?” she asked. He nodded as Callon trotted over and climbed into his lap.  
            “I do, but it is, sadly, in the most direct path to and from the ballroom.”  
           “So work in your own apartment if you need quiet.”  
He smiled. “But I like working in here. Besides, now that you have interrupted me, I guess I could stop for lunch.”  
           “There would be no interruptions in your apartment,” she muttered. Callon sighed.  
           “Gram, please don’t fight.”  
           “No-one is fighting, Dear Heart.” She went to go and see about the food and Thranduil looked down at Callon.  
           “I really only came over because I knew it would annoy Gram,” he told her quietly. Callon giggled.  
           “That’s not very nice,” she chided.   
Thranduil nodded. “I know,” he offered the child a smile. “Since Gram is so busy right now, what if you and I sneak off and have fun this afternoon?”  
           Callon put her hand over her mouth to muffle a giggle. “But, you have work.”  
          “Well, right now, I’m being a Bad King.”  
           Callon nodded and threw her arms around his neck. “Okay, but only for a little while,” she said. As she pulled away, something hard buried him hair scratched her arm. “OW!”  
          Callon pulled his hair over one shoulder and began sifting through it. Dís came back into the room.  
           “Dear Heart, the food’s—what are you _doing_?”  
            “The king has something scratchy in his hair,” Callon paused. “Oh! Pretty!”  
            Dís shook her head and moved to take the toddler from his lap. “Dear Heart, you really cannot be . . . taking . . . Oh, Mahal! Where did you get that?”  
           Callon had found the lone braid in the Thranduil’s thick, normally immaculately straight hair. The silver bead on the end of the braid was square, which is why Callon has scratched herself, but the swirling wave pattern gave it a rather elfish look.   
          Callon fingered it for a moment then let the braid go. “Mine are round,” she said, pulling her hair forward and showing him her braids. “See?”  
           Thranduil patted her on the head and stood up, holding the child and towering over Dís slightly. “Yes, I’ve seen them. Gram made those for you, didn’t she?”  
           Callon nodded. “Before I walked,” she said.  
           “Yes. I recall vividly the visit I got from the smith afterwards, too.” He turned into the dining room, forcing Dís to follow them.  
           “Thranduil, where did you get that?” Dís demanded again. He ignored her and put Callon down in her chair. Callon raised her hands over her head.  
          “My Lord, I did not wash my hands!”  
          “Well, that won’t do. I’ll be right back.” Thranduil disappeared into the lavatory and after a moment, Dís hurried after him.   
          “Answer me!” she came up behind him, and tugged on his elbow. Thranduil offered her a smile and finished wetting the small towel he’d pulled off the rack.   
          “Dís, in a minute. Callon’s hungry.” He pushed past her and returned to the dining room. Dís leaned against the wall and put her hands over her face. She heard Callon chattering and his answering laugh. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Dáin had tried to force her to take the Promise Beads, and now Thranduil was walking around with Dwarrow hair decorations.  
          “Gram, are you finished? I’m _really hungry_!” Callon called. Dís hurried back into the dining room.  
         “I’m sorry, Dear Heart.” She sat down. “I . . . think I’m going to stay home the rest of the afternoon.”  
         Callon nodded and offered Thranduil a smile as she began eating. “That’s okay, Gram. The king and I are Going Out.”  
          Thranduil laughed at how pompous she sounded and even Dís had to smile.  
  
***  
  
  
           After lunch, Dís sent Asny to tell the workmen that they should carry on without her. She retreated to her room and sat in the middle of the bed to look out the window.  
            _‘I swore to Dáin that Thranduil would never lower himself to anything so banal as wearing Promise Beads,’_ she thought. _‘But he found a hair bead somewhere and he’s wearing it!’_  
         “It’s hidden, but that’s not the point. Oh!”    
           Dís hopped up and began circling the room. She stopped in front of the mirror and looked at her reflection. To her own eyes, she looked tired and sad. Every day, she woke feeling less and less happy with her decision to reject his offer, but there didn’t seem to be any way back. So she pushed the gnawing melancholy away, and focused on her responsibilities.   
          _'That seemed to be growing daily,’_ she frowned slightly. _‘Ever since the ball, I’ve been taking on more and more duties. How have I not noticed? When was the last time Callon and I got up, had a leisurely breakfast, and then spent the day in the nursery, doing nothing?’_  
           It had started with the ball, she decided. The staff had to come to her to see how she wanted things done, and they never stopped.    
          _‘And Thranduil practically lives in our apartment now. He comes over for breakfast, he hides out here when he should be working, so we have to give him lunch, then he’s conveniently here for dinner, and then it’s time for Callon to go to bed soon after that, so why go home yet? He stays to read to Callon, then he sits up with Tauriel for a while and they have her briefings—’_  
          “That sneaky, thrice-damned bastard,” Dís smiled slightly in grudging amusement and moved away from the mirror. _‘Does he_ really _hope that totally insinuating himself into our lives will change my mind?’_  
          She sat down at the desk, and put her head down. _‘Maybe not my mind, but it’s no wonder the whole city is convinced we’re going to be married.’_ She frowned.  
          _‘Dáin is convinced Thranduil loves me. Asny says this is home. Callon wants Thranduil in the family so badly she can taste it. Tauriel thinks we could be happy. Her seamstress friend says the whole city is waiting to hear from Thranduil, and they’re having their wedding clothes made up now. And Legolas has no idea what his father is up to, and likely wouldn’t approve it if he did.’_  
          She huffed. _‘I’ve considered everybody around me,’_ she thought. _‘Except the parties concerned; Thranduil and myself.’_  
           Dís pulled paper and pen out of the desk drawer. _‘Tauriel said I should be more selfish. Very well.’_  
           “So what do I want?” Dís muttered.  
 _I want Callon to grow up well._  
 _I want Legolas to be safe, as my sons were not._  
 _I want the Eastern Kingdoms to remain allies._  
 _I want my family back._  
 _I want Tauriel to have a good life._  
 _I want Thranduil to be happy._  
 _I want the Eastern Kingdoms to prosper._  
 _I want to be happy._

  
           Dís stared at her list. It wasn’t very selfish. She frowned. She could never think of Legolas as her son; he was full grown and thousands of years older the she could ever hope to be. Thranduil had already said marrying her would make him happy and as long as Callon and her mother remained in Mirkwood, they would be fine.   
            _‘But what about me?’_ She laughed softly and slid the page back into her desk. Being selfish was harder than it looked.  
            “I want . . . I want . . . Come on, Dís. How hard can this be? Tauriel said don’t think, feel. Okay.” She took a deep breath. “I feel . . . sad. I miss my children. I miss my husband. I miss my bone-head brother. Both of them.”  
             Dís stood up and returned to her place on the bed. _‘If I marry Thranduil, I could have another child. He said he wants to. But then, I’ll never live long enough to see them grown. Of course, I won’t live long enough to see Callon grown either, so I suppose that doesn’t signify. But I can’t marry him just for that!’_  
              Dís flopped back on the bed. “Feel, Dís. Don’t think. When I am . . . with . . . Thranduil . . . I feel . . .”  
              _‘Like I can’t breathe. Not that he’s smothering me . . . well, a little.’_  
              She giggled and sat up. ‘Like he’s always watching me. Like he’s interested in what I’m saying. Like . . . he’s relaxed. Like I’m important. Like . . .’  
              “He loves me.” Dís sighed. “But do I?”  
  
***  
  
           “Yes! Stop right there; that’s perfect!” Dís stepped back another two steps and considered the half-circle, raised dais that would be holding all of the royal guests and nodded once.  
            “Yes. I like it. Let’s get the seats arranged and then I think we are ready.”   
            The elves standing around her cheered and hurried off to retrieve the seats. Dís turned slowly, looking over the ball room. The guests would begin arriving the following day and two days after that was the first night of New Years.   
            She wanted this year to be different, and wrenching the plans away from the house steward was easier that she had anticipated. It seemed the elves were tired of the same old party as well. She glanced over at the stage where the musicians would be, in full sight of the guests for the first time. The dance floor was more than ample to have many couples dancing at once, and she had never understood why the elves only dance one couple at a time, so this year, that was out.   
            There would be plenty of food, lively music from three different cultures—musicians, it seems were far more open-minded than the rest of the Mirkwood citizenry—and colour everywhere. With the invitations, Dís had included a note telling everyone what the themes for each night would be and what the colours were. She had received more RSVPs than she was expecting. In fact, when she had gone to the market the day before, people were chatting enthusiastically about the costumes they had planned.  
            Dís sighed, feeling tired and accomplished at the same time. She needed to run down to the kitchen to see how the food was coming along, then she needed to inspect the guest rooms, but Asny had assured her they were looking well. Then there was the main reception room to—  
             “You appear quite busy, my queen.” Dís winced.  
             “I’ve asked you not to call me that,” she said turning to face Thranduil. He leaned down, and kissed her on the cheek.  
              “You said you were willing to consider my offer,” he told her. “And I am considering how you will look in the Crown Jewels.”  
              The previous week, Dís went to Thranduil, and they had a long talk. She apologized to him, and told him that she would carefully reconsider his offer.  
               “All that I can promise you is that I will have an answer for you by the last night of New Year’s.”  
               “Then the pressure is on me to prove that this can work,” he said, agreeing to her terms.

        Dís shook her head. “No. That will not help me; I must consider other things as well besides us. Let me do this my way.”  
                “As you wish.”  
                Now, Dís rolled her eyes. “Like you said—I’m busy. Why are you _never_ working?”  
                He shook his head. “And Tauriel says I never stop. It cannot be both.”  
                “Thranduil . . .” Dís glared at him over the top rims of her new specks. He had presented them to her the week before when she had agreed to reconsider his offer. She really didn’t want to wear them, but it was nice to see the world clearly again.  
                  He smiled. “I heard the cheering, so I figured you must be finished in here.” He turned to take in the room. “It does look quite nice. But why a costume theme?”  
                  “Because you can only attend the same party for so many centuries,” Dís told him. “And after only five years, I was already bored. I can’t even begin to imagine how the rest of the population feels.”  
                    Thranduil opened his mouth to protest, then sighed. “Fair enough. Can you at least tell me what the first night’s theme is to be?”  
                    “No. You’ll recognize it when you see your costume.” She nodded to the servants as she passed and they bowed.  
                     “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like what you have in mind?” he asked, following her.  
                     “Oh, I can virtually guarantee you won’t,” she told him cheerfully. “And you’ll have to wear it anyway. Glánor swore to me quite solemnly that you _will_ wear it, even if he has to recruit help to hold you down and dress you.”  
                     Thranduil laughed. “You’re colluding with Glánor against me already? That didn’t take long.”  
                     “Colluding . . . is such a harsh word,” Dís smiled. “I prefer . . . arranging.”  
                     “Is it at least dignified?” he asked, sounding a little desperate. Dís took so long to consider her reply, Thranduil almost felt afraid.  
                     “In . . . a . . . manner of speaking.”  
                      “Will I be naked?”  
                     “Durin’s Mighty Beard! There will be _children_ there! Of course not!”  
                     “Well, that’s a relief,” he muttered. Dís shook her head and disappeared into the kitchen, so Thranduil went to the nursery to see if he could pry any clues out of Callon.  
  
***


	19. Chapter 19

         Thranduil leaned back, sitting almost sideways in his chair, and crossed his legs at the knee. The dance floor below him was crowded with smiling faces behind elaborate masks and the room was alive with colour. Except for him. He was clad from head to toe in unrelenting black. Even his mask was black. He looked at Dís as she and Tauriel skipped through a rather Dwarfish looking group dance with Callon. All three of them were wearing spring green with leaves, vines, mithril, and diamonds braided and woven into their hair.  
          Dís’ theme for this New Year’s—Middle-Earth. This first night was the Reign of the Valar, and everyone was dress as one. For him, she had chosen Melkor—The Dark Lord. No-one else had chosen it, and Dís thought he looked rather dashing all in black. The tunic was short, only mid-thigh and his pants and boots seemed to disappear into each other. His hair was pulled back in queue, but Thranduil decided to leave the bead-tipped braid loose. It was a provocative move and got the reaction he was expecting—shock, and some surprise, but no hostility.  
           Beside him, Dáin was, of course Aulë, the Father of the Dwarves, and Bard was Ulmo, Lord of the Sea. This entire thing felt faintly sacrilegious, but all the guests were having a good time. The music ended and everyone applauded enthusiastically and scatted to the drinks tables. Callon mounted the dais and sat down on Thranduil’s lap.  
           “That was fun!” she gushed, her tiny face rosy from exertion. “Will you dance with me next?” she asked.  
           “Of course,” Thranduil told her. She grinned and hopped down to take the drink Tauriel had secured for her.  
          Dáin laughed, and Bard had a knowing smile too. “She has you wrapped so tight around her finger,” Dáin said shaking his head. Thranduil huffed.   
            “She is a very small child,” he said. “Without a father. As her king, it is my duty to look after her, as I did for her mother before her.”  
             “Yeah,” Bard said, still grinning. “You keep telling yourself that. I have two girls myself, you know.” He leaned over and added in a hushed whisper: “They have powers.”  
              Dáin laughed and Dís glanced up to see what was so funny. Bard waved and she returned it with a nod, then looked at Callon who was tugging on her arm.  
            “Gram, the king said he would dance with me.” Dís smiled.  
            “That was very good of him. And look, the music is starting again.”  
            Thranduil put down his wine glass and rose. Dís watched him come down the steps towards them, looking very tall and intimidating in his outfit. He took Callon’s hand and led her to the dance floor. Tauriel grinned at the quiet mummers of approval from the guests. She sat beside Dís.  
             “A successful evening, Dís. I don’t think I’ve enjoyed New Year’s this much in centuries.”  
            “That’s what I thought,” Dís said, glancing towards the door. Tauriel followed her gaze.  
            “Are you expecting someone?”  
           “Well . . . sort of. But he’s very late.” Even as she said it, the door opened and another dark-clad figure entered the room. Dís relaxed and hurried over to greet him. He looked down at her, startled for a moment, then bowed. She spoke to him for a moment and a grin split his face. He nodded and followed her to the dais. Tauriel rose.  
            “ _Mae Govannen, mellon_. It’s been a while, Legolas. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”  
           “And I wasn’t expecting to be here,” he said, looking over the room. “But Lady Dís’ letter caught up with me in time, and I hurried back.” He frowned. “Is that Father?”  
           Tauriel laughed. “Yes. It seems we have two evil Valar on our hands now.”  
           Dís shook her head. “Nope. Still just one.”  
           “Apparently, I’m Manwë,” Legolas said, sounding slightly confused.  
           The music ended, and the guests applauded. The lead musician announced that they would take a short break, and the guests clapped again, then began talking all at once. Thranduil led Callon back to her mother.  
           “Well, this is a surprise,” he said, coming up behind Legolas.                “Still alive, I see.”  
           “I’m discovering that I’m actually quite difficult to kill,” he answered. “Hello, Princess.”  
           “I’m a tree,” she announced, slightly offended that he couldn’t tell. Legolas nodded.  
           “Of course; my mistake.”  
Thranduil looked down at the tiniest Yavanna to ever exist and shook his head.  
           “You know, Dís, there are going to be some rather uncomfortable questions for you to answer for when you get to the Halls of your Fathers.”  
           She shrugged. “I’m really not that concerned.” She looked at the guests. Frerin was talking to Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda. His older brother, Thorin was there with his son, visiting from the Iron Hills. The elves were mingling and clearly enjoying themselves.  
“What I _am_ worried about is what I’m going to do if I have to plan _next year’s_ party.”  
          Legolas agreed. “This might be hard to top.”  
          “And it’s only the first night,” Dís added.  
  
***  
  
           The second night was The Awakening of the Elves, so everybody had to be an elf, which the dwarves found to be a rather amusing challenge. Dark, gossamer draperies were hung in the ballroom, with widely spaced candles behind them, so that it looked as if the room were illuminated by starlight. Dís knew she’d gotten it right when the very oldest elves, including the king, gazed over the room in nostalgic approval.  
           “It’s beautiful,” Thranduil told her.  
            The third night was officially New Year’s, and Dís maintained the traditional white dress to welcome the year, and the only bow to the costume theme was white masks. The fourth night was The Awakening of the Second Children—Men. Dáin complained to Dís that she was doing it in the wrong order; the Dwarves were next, but she told him to be patient.   
             This night, all the guests could pick from any of the lands of Men for their costumes, and there were Rangers, Numinorians, Rohirrim, Easterlings, and a lot of Southron Haradrim pirates.    
Everyone was having even more fun that the first night. Legolas was a Ranger, running around in the dirtiest look old clothes Dís had ever seen. He’d even painted stubble on, which Callon thought was hilarious. Thranduil only looked at his son and shook his head.  
              “He is a king, my son, no matter how he dresses.”   
              To the amusement of Bard and his children, Tauriel had come dressed as the corpulent former Master of Lake Town. They had unearthed their old clothes from Lake Town as well, though Tilda had to borrow her dress from Sigrid.  
               Underneath the laughter and dancing and drinking, the elf guests were beginning to worry slightly. There was only one night left, and there still had been no word on the king’s marriage.  
               The fifth and last night, Dís had deliberately left for the Awakening of the Dwarves, and the Coming of Hobbits. The Elves and Men now had to figure out how to be little people. Callon wanted to be a hobbit, and so did most of the younger guests, but the Dwarves in attendance were turned out in their finest party clothes.   
               Dís had worked closely with Glánor and Asny to prepare Thranduil’s costume, and she was sure he would be _furious_ when he saw it. To her surprise, he arrived in the ballroom, laughing his head off. He approached Dís, who was dresses as befit a proper Dwarrow princess, knelt down and kissed her in front of everyone. The room gasped.  
             “Thorin,” he told her, still grinning. “Is positively _rolling_ over in his grave right now.”  
               Dís laughed. “Yes, I’m sure he his.” Thranduil stood up and crossed his arms, the way Thorin used to stand all the time, and Dís laughed again.  
               “Stop it.”  
               Tauriel and Legolas were dressed as Fili and Kili, which surprised Dís. Seeing Legolas with a beard and the mustache braids was really too much, but she was pleased that it made her laugh, not feel sad.   
               Legolas looked at Tauriel. “So it is true, then?” he asked. “My father is really going to marry Lady Dís?”  
              “They have not informed me,” She told him. Legolas stared at her.  
              “Tauriel, he just kissed her in front of three hundred people!”  
              “Yes, but he’s also dressed up as a six foot version of her brother, so I can’t say I’d take that kiss all too seriously.”  
Legolas shook his head, and Tauriel went to join her mother-in-law.                Thranduil sat with Dáin and Bard again for most of the night, though he did dance a few dances. The music tonight was all Dwarfish and ruckus and the dancing was looking dangerously close to a mêlée. According to Dáin, it was the perfect Dwarf party.  
                When the musicians took their break, and the guests milled about, having drinks, and complaining that Dwarves wore too many clothes, Dís came up to join Thranduil on the dais. Dáin and Bard beat a hasty retreat to chat with their children.   
                 “Well, Milady,” he said softly as she sat down. “Tis the last night, and you promised me an answer.”  
                  Dís nodded. “I did.” She looked out over the assembly, who were all talking rather louder than necessary. She shook her head. They weren’t fooling anyone; she knew they could hear every word that was being said between herself and Thranduil. He followed her gaze, and put down his drink.  
                  “Shall we?” They left the ballroom and went to his office. He shut the door. “Now we can talk.”  
                  Dís looked down at her feet. Thranduil frowned slightly. “Dís, are you still worried that the people will not respect you or that Legolas will be upset—”  
                “No . . .well . . .no.” _‘Dís, you can do this. It’s not as if you don’t know him. Marry first; fall in love later.’_ She raised her head. “Do elves have complicated weddings?”  
                Thranduil was surprised by the question. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”  
                “So we could get married right now if we wanted to? In this room?”  
               “If you’d like,” Thranduil said slowly.  
                Dís nodded. “Okay. Then I want to do it now. Just us.” She frowned at him. “Although, it is a little odd with you dress as my brother.”  
               Thranduil laughed and kissed Dís on the cheek. “We will still have to do something publically later on,” he said. “Or Callon will be excessively disappointed.”  
               “Yes. I’ll—wait.” She ran out of the room, and he shrugged and sat down at his desk. She was back a few minutes later with Legolas, Tauriel, and Callon in tow.   
               “Okay, hurry up, before I lose my nerve,” she said as the door shut.  
               Callon looked at her mother. _“Nana,_ what’s going on?”  
               Tauriel shushed her. “Something wonderful.”  
  
***  
  
                 They all returned to the ballroom about ten minutes later, Callon eating a large cookie.  
                  _“Nana,_ does this count as supper or breakfast?” she asked, as she had been told to. Tauriel shook her head.  
                 “Supper, dear. You have to go to bed and sleep before you can have breakfast.”  
                “And now that she’s eaten that, she won’t,” Thranduil added dryly. The guests resumed their conversations and Thranduil his seat. Dís circulated around the room, speaking to various guests before returned to her seat as well. She glanced up to him and nodded. Thranduil raised a hand for silence.  
                  “Ladies and gentlemen, can we have a round of applause for Princess Dís. She is the one responsible for the planning and execution of our rather unusual but enjoyable New Year’s celebrations this year.”  
               Everyone applauded and cheered. Thranduil smiled.  
               “A lot of you might not know that I have been asking Princess Dís to marry me for quite some time.”  
             He paused and everyone seemed to be leaning forward in anticipation of his answer.   
            “It was not an easy decision for either of us to embark on this course,” Thranduil continued. “But, after leaving me in dreadful suspense for well over four months—Princess Dís has consented to be my wife.”  
             “It’s about damn time!” Dáin said. Dís groaned and everyone applauded again. Dís scanned the faces before her, looking for any negative reactions, but there didn’t appear to be any. Everyone was smiling, a few were even laughing.   
              Thranduil wait for them to quiet down. “Our public nuptials, which will follow the Dwarrow tradition, will be in the spring,” he announced. “But please don’t be alarmed if the newest member of the family is . . . four or five months ‘early.’”  
              “Ugh! Father!” Legolas grimaced.  
               Tauriel shook her head and Dís put her hands over her face and groaned. The dwarves hooted and cat-called and the rest of the guests laughed. Callon looked up at her mother, still munching steadily on her cookie.   
                _“Nana,_ what’s he talking about?”  
               “I’ll tell you in about ninety-five years.”  
  
***


	20. Chapter 20

(ONE YEAR LATER):  
  
           Queen Dís of the Woodland Realm waddled into the ballroom to see how the preparations for New Years were progressing. She was very heavily pregnant, and Tauriel was honestly shocked Dís didn’t go into labour every time she moved around. Callon trotted after her grandmother, in case she was needed for any emergencies.  
             Tauriel had her back to the door, but when the staff paused to bow, she sighed.  
             “Dís, last year, you were worried about planning this. I took it over to help out, and you can’t stay away.”  
             Dís plopped down on the chair someone helpfully provided. “I can’t help it!” she groused. “I’m bored out of my mind! Thranduil won’t let me do _anything_ and I can’t sit in that apartment another minute. I’ll start breaking things.”  
              “Please don’t.” Thranduil strode into the room, giving his tiny wife a fond, but also slightly annoyed look. “While it would be another first, I don’t think the child should be delivered in the ballroom.”  
             Callon laughed. “As slowly as Gram is walking now, _Udad,_ it would more likely be in the hallway.”  
             “Callon,” Tauriel shook her head. “That’s not nice.”  
             “But it is the truth,” Dís leaned back and sighed. “I’m tired of reading—shocking, I know—I can’t knit the baby one more thing, and no-one will let me do any cleaning. They won’t let me cook—”  
              Tauriel laughed. “Well, perhaps it’s because we elf ladies are a bit frail by the time we get where you are.”  
              “Well, we Dwarrowdams are made of sterner stuff. Now what can I do to help?”  
             Tauriel glanced around the room. Dís had really managed to motivate the staff in the   
time she had been in charge of them, and they required little supervision. Tauriel was mostly just there to confirm things.  
              “Well, I need help with the menus,” she said. “And the chefs are still arguing, even though they are in their separate kitchens. The kitchen staff may stage a mass walk-out.”  
                Thranduil shook his head. “I’ll deal with that.”  
                Dís sighed gratefully. She wanted to be doing something, but trying to sort out and soothe three chefs and their imagined slights was exhausting even when she was in peak condition. She stood up.  
             “Bring the menus to my office.” She waddled out, Callon still following closely behind her. Tauriel laughed.  
             “She should have delivered by now,” she told the king as they left the ballroom. Thranduil shrugged.  
              “Legolas was three weeks late. I’m not worried.” He glanced down towards the kitchen, then stopped a passing servant. “Bring all of the chefs to my office. And have extra, equally sized chairs put in the room before I arrive.”  
               The servant bowed and hurried off in the opposite direction. Tauriel raised her eyebrow.  
               “Where are you going?”  
               “The wine cellar; I refuse face them this sober.”  
                The menus took far too long to sort out in Tauriel’s opinion, but Dís waved away her complaints.  
               “This is the easy stuff. The longer it takes the better. No-one bothers you, since an interruption could mean the ruination of a perfect meal.”  
               Callon was leaning against the arm of Dís’ chair listening to them. “Gram, after the baby comes, will you have time to help me cook again?”  
               “I’ll make time, Dear Heart. I promise. Babies sleep a lot.”  
                Tauriel rose. “Let’s go home.”  
                 Dís stood with some difficulty, and the three ladies began their trek back towards the Family Quarters. Outside Thranduil’s closed office door, Dís stopped walking and her face went pale, then very red. She put her hand against the door frame and took a shaky breath.  
                “Dís?” Tauriel put a steading hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”  
               Before she could answer, the door flew opened and Thranduil strode out. He bent and picked up Dís so she wouldn’t have to walk.  
               “I told you to stay in the apartment,” he chided. Tauriel sent Callon with the couple and hurried off to get the midwife.  
  
***  
  
                Dís tried not to cry as she paced the length of the delivery room, Thranduil holding onto her and encouraging her along. Dís had been walking up and down for hours and she was exhausted.  
               “I . . . can’t do this anymore. This child will not come.”  
               Thranduil led her to a chair so she could sit down while the midwife tutted in disapproval.  
               “Walking helps,” she said. Thranduil glared at her and held a cup for Dís so she could drink.  
               “She’s exhausted,” he said, pushing the midwife away. “Letting her sit for a minute will make little difference.” Dís sagged against him.  
                “I’m too old for this,” she moaned. “Or something else is wrong. It’s been three days.”  
                The midwife sniffed. “There is nothing wrong,” she said. “You just have to try a bit harder.”  
                Thranduil look at his wife and Dís shook her head. He leaned her back in the seat and pulled a blanket over her. He rose and turned to the midwife.  
                “Leave. Now.”  
                The elf looked irritated, but she bowed stiffly to them both and departed. Thranduil knelt beside Dís again.  
               “I’m going to get Tauriel.” She nodded weakly, and he went out into the outer room. Callon was playing on the floor. She offered Thranduil a smile.  
               “ _Udad_ , _Nana_ saw the lady leave and went to find Camaenil. She said she’ll be right back.” Callon looked at the door. “How’s Gram?”  
                “Not so well.”  
                “Can I see her?” Callon begged. He nodded and took her into the room. Dís was half asleep in the chair. Callon approached her quietly and took Dís’ hand. “Gram? Are you okay?”  
                “I’m okay,” she assured the child half-heartedly. “I think something might be wrong with the baby, though. Where’s _Nana?”_  
                “She went to get Camaenil. She’ll be right back.” Callon squeezed her hand. “It’ll be okay, Gram.”  
                “I hope so, Dear Heart.” Thranduil urged Callon away so Dís could rest. Tauriel returned a few minutes later with the healer.  
               “What’s going on?” Camaenil asked him. Thranduil shook his head.  
              “It’s taking too long. Dís thinks there might be something wrong with the baby.” The healer nodded and they reentered the room. Thranduil put Dís on the bed so Camaenil could examine her. After a few minutes, she looked the king and nodded.  
              “She’s right, the baby’s lying sideways. I can feel the heart beating, so for the moment, he’s still alive.” Tauriel smiled at Dís.  
              “We’ll get him turned, Dís, I promise. He’ll be okay, and so will you.”  
              Thranduil refused to leave, so the two women boiled water and made their preparations while he sat on the bed behind Dís and tried to soothe her. It felt like hours of massaging and prodding later, but finally, Camaenil told Dís to push. She was too tired, but                    Thranduil whispered encouraging words, and Tauriel did too. After a few more pushes, the healer let her rest again.  
            “You’re almost there, Dís. One more!”  
            Dís pushed and cried and Thranduil hugged her as Camaenil stepped away. “You did it, Dís. Relax.” He kissed her hair. “You did it.”  
           Tauriel went to help Camaenil while she checked the baby. The tiny child was blue, but they massaged her chest and back. After a long, tense minute, she took a breath and made a small whine. Tauriel relaxed and offered her friend a smile as they cleaned her up.  
             “Will she be alright, going so long without air?” she asked softly. She glanced back at Dís, who was trying to keep her eyes open to see what they were doing. Thranduil made eye contact with Tauriel, indicating that he heard her.  
              The healer was still gently massaging the baby’s chest. “It’s hard to know. Callon is the only other hybrid child I’ve treated, but she was born just fine.” The baby was breathing steadily now. She checked the child’s reflexes, then wrapped her up snugly and took her to her mother.  
                “Here she is,” Camaenil told Dís. “After all the fuss and bother; a princess.”  
                “We’re calling her Mírdan,” Dís inspected her, not liking the blue tinge to the child’s skin. “Will she be alright?”  
                Camaenil sighed. “I honestly don’t know. I’ll stay close by for the next few days, and sit with her at night, but her colour’s already returning. I think our little Jewel Smith will be fine.”  
                Dís nodded. “Tauriel, go get Callon. I know she’s worried.”  
                Tauriel and Camaenil tidied the room a bit before Tauriel let her daughter in. Callon crept in and stood by the bed, peering at the baby.  
                “Gram, what’s her name?” she asked. “Can I hold her?”  
                Dís nodded and Tauriel pulled a chair over. Callon sat down, and her mother showed her how to hold Mírdan the right way.  
                _“Nana,_ was I this small?” she asked, studying her tiny aunt. Tauriel laughed.   
                “No, you were a little bigger, actually.”  
                Callon nodded and leaned down to kiss Mírdan on the forehead. “Gram, she’s pretty. And I’m jealous.”  
               Tauriel took the newborn back. “Why, honey?”  
               “Cause she already has her beard,” Callon scrubbed her bare cheeks. “It’s not fair.”  
               Thranduil rolled his eyes and Dís managed a small, slightly pained laugh. “Give it time, Dear Heart. Your father’s was late, too.”  
               This perked her up slightly, and she followed Tauriel around the room as she put a diaper on the baby and settled her in the cradle. The ladies then shooed Thranduil and Callon out to so that they could properly clean the room.  
              He sat on one of the sofas and closed his eyes. Callon sat next to him and curled up against his side.  
                _“Udad,_ I was really worried about Gram.”  
               “Me, too,” he told her. “But she’s okay now. Mírdan’s okay and it’s over.”  
              Callon nodded. “I don’t want Gram to have any more babies.”  
              Thranduil laughed. “I . . . think she totally agrees with you.” He glanced towards the door, and a moment later, Legolas sailed in.  
              “Father, why is one of the midwives trying to leave the city?”  
              “Likely so I don’t kill her.” Thranduil stood up. “Where have you been?”  
              “I was in Dale, with Bain. We went hunting.” He looked at Callon’s drawn face and frowned. “Nothing starts until tomorrow. I’m not late.”  
             Callon shook her head. “You missed everything,” she said solemnly, sounding far older than six. Thranduil smiled at her, then frowned at his son.  
             “I sent for you.”  
             “Father, I told you; Bain and I were hunting.” He looked around the room. “Where is Lady Dís?” He looked at Callon. “And where is Tauriel?”  
             “I said,” Callon pointed towards the room. “You. Missed. _Everything.”_  
              “I . . . oh. Damn.” He sighed and offered his father a low bow. “I am sorry, Father. I knew she was close, but I figured we had a few more days.”  
            “It’s been three,” Callon sounded sleepy and annoyed. “I was alone for most of it.”  
             Thranduil looked at his granddaughter, then at his son. Legolas had the courtesy to blush.  
              “I am profoundly sorry, Father. How is Lady Dís? And the child is well?”  
             “Your sister did not want to come out,” Thranduil told his son. “You can see her another time. Callon, come; you must sleep.” He picked her up and took her into the room where the baby would be. There was a small bed in there and she fell asleep as soon as he put her down.  
              Legolas swore and dropped his gear onto the sofa. Tauriel came out of the delivery room, and started when she saw him.  
              “You’re late.”  
              “So I’ve been told. By your daughter. There’s nothing quite so lowering at my age, than to be told I have failed the family by a six year old, in not so many words.”  
              Tauriel laughed quietly. “Well, it would have helped if you were here, Legolas. That midwife nearly killed your sister.” She huffed. “I ought to lock her up for a decade or two.”  
             “Well, you’re too late. I noticed her fleeing as I arrived.”  
             “Good riddance.” Tauriel plopped down and yawned. “Oh, Valar! And we _still_ have to get through New Year’s! All the guests started arriving yesterday,” she told him. “So I was running all over trying to get people settled. And then there was a _thing_ in the kitchens, and the chefs were threatening to quit! Thankfully, everyone was willing to eat in their room, so I didn’t have to host a stupid feast. That would have been a _nightmare!”_    
              She sat up. “Now, I need to go find Dáin and tell him the good news, and then, I think I want a bath and bed, though not necessarily in that order.”   
            _‘Dammit,’_ Legolas thought, irritated with himself. _‘It’s my job to be the host when Father’s not available, not Tauriel’s.’_  
            “What’s the plan for dinner tonight?” he asked.  
            “Same as last night,” she said. “They know Dís was Indisposed, so all of our guests were quite content to entertain themselves.”  
             Thranduil returned, freshly groomed and looking like nothing had happened in the last few days. “I will tell Dáin tomorrow, along with everyone else. In the meantime, Tauriel, go home.”  
             He returned to the delivery room and Legolas retreated to his own apartment.  
  
***  
  
             After all the guests were seated for dinner the following night, Thranduil got to his feet as Camaenil entered the room through the hidden door behind him. The guests began smiling slightly as she placed a pile of blankets in his arms.  
           “My lady wife and our new queen, Dís, is not able to join us tonight. However, she has asked me to introduce the newest member of our family to you all.” He tilted the child slightly so everyone could see her.  
             “My daughter; Princess Mírdan.”  
              Everyone applauded and raised their glasses, including Legolas. “Hail, Princess Mírdan!”  
              After a few minutes, Camaenil stepped forward and reclaimed Mírdan, to take her back to Dís. Thranduil resumed his seat. Dáin was all smiles.  
             “Unusual name,” he said to Thranduil. “But that’s a right pretty little girl.” He winked at Callon who was seated beside him. “But she’ll never be as pretty as you.”  
             Callon sniffed. “You only say that because she has her beard already. Just wait; mine will be twice as nice.”  
             Dáin laughed out loud and Thranduil sighed. Tauriel had already told him not to voice their elfish opinions on the matter. Besides, he hardly noticed it on Dís, so it made no difference. Bard smiled at Thranduil.  
              “I told you, girls have powers. Try and resist spoiling them.”  
              Tauriel shook her head. “Oh, don’t worry; he’s not.”  
              Callon grinned at Thranduil. “I have to share _Udad_ with Aunt Mírdan,” she said. “But I know I’m still the favorite.” She focused on her plate for a second. “Oh, and Uncle Dáin?”  
              “Yes, Princess?”  
              “Could you apologize to Gimli, Gloin-son, for me? I kicked him rather hard on Durin’s Day, and I’m starting to feel a bit sorry for it.”  
              Tauriel was horrified, but the three kings found it hilarious.     

              “You kicked him over a month ago, and _now_ you feel badly?” Thranduil asked. Callon nodded.  
              “He said I was a badly put together dwarf, and a squashed elf. So I kicked him.”  
             Dáin tried to look serious. “Where?”  
            Callon offered him a slow smile. “His face turned a most alarming shade of red.” She smirked. “And he squeaked.”  
  
***

THE END

CHIBIMETHOS, 2014


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